


Whichever Road I Choose You'll Go

by lco123



Category: Teenage Bounty Hunters (TV)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Long Shot AU, Politics, Sexual Content, but not really an AU, more of a future fic, surely incredibly factually inaccurate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28138605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lco123/pseuds/lco123
Summary: Sterling is halfway through a shrimp puff, and she kind of chokes on it as she spins around to see April Stevens—Secretary of State and Sterling’s ex-something—staring back at her.April Stevens is running for President and Sterling Wesley, for better or for worse, is about to become her new speechwriter. Based on the movie Long Shot.
Relationships: April Stevens/Sterling Wesley
Comments: 232
Kudos: 365





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite possibly a very niche project, but if anyone out there has seen the pretty charming romcom Long Shot, here is the Stepril version. If you haven't seen that movie, you won't be lost. The basic premise is that Charlize Theron is running for president and hires Seth Rogen, a journalist who she knew when they were kids, as her new speechwriter. If you are familiar with the movie, this won't follow it exactly.
> 
> The reason this isn't a full-on AU is that said premise actually works really well for two characters who haven't seen each other in years, so this story essentially picks up eighteen-ish years post-canon. We're ignoring many logistical details like how presidential campaigns work and what the world might even look like in eighteen years, because I want to write a Stepril romcom, dammit. :) 
> 
> Thanks for coming along for the ride!

If Sterling had been thinking in any way logically before coming here tonight, it might have occurred to her that she’d likely see April.

After all, this is a major fundraiser for the Democratic party, and April is—improbably, but if political gossip is to be believed—a frontrunner for the presidential candidacy heading into the upcoming election. She’s freaking _Secretary of State_ , a fact which Sterling still has to pinch herself over every time she’s at the grocery store and sees a new magazine article about April with her looking strong and powerful and somehow hotter than ever.

(Sterling always ends up purchasing the magazine in question, and can never bring herself to throw them away even months later. She tucks them in her desk whenever Blair comes over, but Blair still manages to tease her about her “stalker-like obsession.” To which Sterling protests that she’s not a stalker since she’s never showed up at the White House or anything, and it’s not an _obsession_ because Sterling can go months without thinking about April, and then Blair raises an eyebrow and asks if Sterling ever masturbates to the pictures, and Sterling turns red and immediately changes the subject.

It’s kind of a whole thing.)

But Sterling just got fired from her dream job over her refusal to doctor a story about the inhumane practices at Amazon, because apparently Amazon in an advertiser and the newspaper business is dying, or whatever.

So Sterling is not thinking logically, and Blair kind of dragged her here under false pretense—Blair’s company is working security for this event and she claimed that Beyoncé would be here, but so far Bey’s a no show—which is why it’s genuinely a shock when a way-too-familiar voice says, “Sterling?”

Sterling is halfway through a shrimp puff, and she kind of chokes on it as she spins around to see April Stevens—Secretary of State and Sterling’s ex- _something_ —staring back at her.

And yeah, Sterling is intimately aware of what April looks like these days, if her magazine collection is anything to go by, but a few glossy pictures don’t do April justice. She’s older, to be sure; they’ve both officially entered the “mid-to-late” part of their thirties. But she wears her age beautifully. April is confident as ever, Sterling can tell, but calmer, too. She’s had to be, to survive as a woman in politics.

Her small stature seems taller somehow, though maybe it’s the floor-length strapless blue dress she’s wearing, tasteful but snug enough that Sterling feels warmer just looking at her. Her hair is swept back and she’s got long earrings dangling at the sides of her neck—her _neck_ —and her arms are so toned and good Lord, Sterling’s been chewing this shrimp puff for a while.

“April!” Sterling manages.

April actually smirks at her, and of course that look still does things to Sterling. “Well, fancy meeting you here. Are you covering this event for the Times?”

Sterling’s eyes widen. _April knows she’s a journalist._ She shakes her head. “No, I, um. Got fired today, actually.” There’s no use hiding it, especially not when Sterling knows she’s on the right side of the issue, ethically speaking.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay.” Sterling twists her hands together, feeling extraordinary awkward. “But you, oh my gosh! You’ve sure gone places!” She winces, hating that she sounds like a graduation card from a grandparent. “I mean, obviously, duh, I always knew you would. But the presidency. Wow.” And now she sounds like—well, like her teenage self. Sterling was on the shortlist for a journalism award last year, and her vocabulary has been reduced to “wows” and “ums.”

April’s eyebrow twitches. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s an awfully long way to go.”

“C’mon, you’re gonna win.”

“Well, I certainly don’t plan to lose.”

It’s the confidence Sterling remembers but with a quiet maturity underneath it. April holds her gaze steadily, and Sterling’s stomach clenches. She’s in the middle of a giant benefit, but within twenty seconds of talking to April it’s like the whole world has fallen away.

And then there’s a hand on April’s elbow, and the world comes zooming back into focus. Sterling is all ready to scowl at the intruding presence before she recognizes who it is.

“ _Ezequiel?”_

She can tell that it takes him a second to place her, but when he does his mouth drops open. “Sterling Wesley? What the hell are you doing here, girl?”

“Blair brought me here. Her company is running security,” Sterling explains, wishing she had a more impressive reason for being here.

“Blair owns her own company?” April remarks. “Wouldn’t have bet on that.”

Sterling ignores the comment, turning to Ezequiel. “And what about you?”

He smiles at her, clearly proud. “I’m Secretary Stevens’s Chief of Staff. Slash campaign manager.”

“No! Seriously?”

“Seriously. We reconnected after April finished law school.”

Sterling shakes her head in disbelief at the sight of the two of them together. “Wow. That’s…kind of perfect, actually. Do you guys ever hear from Hannah B.?”

Ezequiel and April exchange a look. “From time to time,” Ezequiel answers. “She started her own socks-for-cats company but it went under about a year ago. Last I heard she was making jewelry in Mount Shasta.”

Sterling nods, taking that in. This whole thing is so bizarre. She’s standing here in an out-of-season black dress that she borrowed from Blair, catching up with her old classmates like they’re at a high school reunion, instead of the event that may help determine April’s chances of becoming the _President of the United States._

If Willingham could see them now.

Ezequiel whispers something into April’s ear, and her expression shifts back into what Sterling is guessing is her business face. “I have potential donors to talk to,” she directs to Sterling.

“Duty calls.” Sterling bites her lip. She doesn’t want April to just slip away in the crowd and for them to go another eighteen years without seeing one another, but she’s also aware that she can’t exactly ask the Secretary of State to keep in touch.

“It was really great seeing you,” April says, and obviously she’s a politician so she’s a master at getting people to believe her, but Sterling thinks she means it, especially when she grasps Sterling’s forearm with a perfectly manicured hand.

And yes, it’s been eighteen years, but April’s touch still makes her go a little dizzy.

“You too,” Sterling replies, and suddenly April is gone.

Sterling stares after her, heart pounding hard, not even aware Blair is beside her until she hears, “That wasn’t actually April Stevens, was it?”

“In the flesh.”

Blair lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a snort and a sigh. “Oh God,” she groans dramatically. “You are so screwed.”

\----

Ezequiel understands April better than anybody, at this point, and he’s the only person who can read her like a book. Which is why April knows what’s coming the second they slip into the town car waiting outside the benefit.

“So, Sterling Wesley,” he drawls.

April glares at him as she slips off her heels. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” he protests. “Merely stating a name. Sterling Wesley. Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“This is true.”

“She looked good, didn’t she? I mean, if you’re into the whole vaguely-disheveled-struggling-journalist thing. Which I’m sure no one in this car is into, right?”

“Ezequiel.” Her tone is warning but unfortunately he also knows her well enough to hear the lack of bite behind it.

The truth is, seeing Sterling threw her completely out of orbit. It’s humiliating. April has testified before Congress, has argued cases before the Supreme Court, has negotiated hostage situations. And seeing the girl she kissed a few times in high school makes her feel like jumping out of her own skin. She can’t remember a word she said to a single donor after seeing Sterling. She met fucking _Beyoncé_ tonight, and Sterling had her more awe-struck.

“Did you read her latest in the Times?” Ezequiel asks, even though he’s already well aware of the answer. He forwarded April the article, for God’s sake. He does that with all of Sterling’s articles, since April is too busy to keep up with the news on her own. He never adds commentary, just sends the piece in question along to April’s personal email account. It’s the newest incarnation of their years-long Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy.

“It was her last piece for them,” April says quietly, staring out the window. “She told me she got fired.”

“Seriously? She was one of the best writers on staff.”

And April should probably examine the little flicker of pride she feels to hear him say that, were she in the business of examining any of her Sterling-specific feelings.

“I agree,” she says, aiming for neutral.

Ezequiel is quiet for a few minutes. April watches New York whizz past them, longing for the comfort of her king bed waiting back at the hotel.

She doesn’t look at Ezequiel, because she has a pretty good idea of what he’s thinking, and her suspicions are confirmed when he asks, “So, have you had a chance to look at the samples from the speechwriters?”

She finally turns toward him, narrowing her eyes. “And why would you be bringing that up now?”

“It’s an important part of your campaign. The relatability piece is going to be key.”

April scoffs. “ _Relatability_. I hate that word. Smart, competent women have to bend over backwards to prove we’re not man-hating lesbian shrews out to give the country forced abortions, and a man can brag about grabbing pussies and go on to lead the country into hell for four miserable years.”

“Hey, you know I agree with you,” Ezequiel replies, putting up a defensive hand. “But we also know that sexism is alive and well in the great U.S. of A. Changing the system from the inside out, that’s always been the plan, right?”

“Right,” April sighs.

“Plus, you _are_ a man-hating lesbian.”

“Yeah, but the general public doesn’t know that.” _Not yet, anyway,_ she mentally tacks on.

“Anyway,” Ezequiel continues. “We need someone who can package you up for all of America, right? Turn you into apple pie and sweetness?” When April doesn’t take the bait, he adds, “And who do we know who’s the human embodiment of those things?”

April is silent for another second before replying, “Would it be a certain unemployed writer in an ill-fitting black dress?”

“Oh girl, I saw your eyeballs on her. You seemed to like the way that dress was fitting just fine.”

“Shut up,” April grumbles, shoving his arm.

“Very mature, Madame Secretary. Shall I get in touch with Sterling’s people?”

“Sterling doesn’t have _people._ Well, maybe Blair.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“My answer is no.”

It’s a terrible idea. Sterling is a distraction, and April cannot afford to be distracted right now. She’s is on the precipice of her lifelong dream. She’s so close she can taste it.

But Sterling is also smart, and sweet, and a genuinely great writer. She has a way of breaking complicated issues down into easily digestible parts. April’s marveled at Sterling’s interviews, at her ability to make wildly famous feel human, never excusing their mistakes but giving them the space to explain them, to atone. Sterling has a remarkable capacity for listening, for getting to the truth of the matter.

And, April recognizes, for making people feel relatable.

She’s also known April for most of their lives, at this point. And it’s been nearly two decades since they’ve seen one another—though April does have some burner social media accounts that have kept her up to date on Sterling’s personal life, just for the hell of it—but undeniably, Sterling knows April in a way that few others do. Maybe not the person April is now, but a version of herself that existed long ago, that maybe still exists, somewhere deep within.

“She’s not even a speechwriter,” April murmurs, more to herself than to Ezequiel.

“Pretty sure she’d be anything, for you.”

And that’s a ridiculous thing for him to say, because Sterling is nothing to April, really, but it still sends a shiver down her spine, nonetheless.

“Reach out,” she hears herself say, before she can think better of it. “See if she’s even interested.”

“Babe,” he says with a soft laugh. “I’ve already got an email drafted.”

April nods curtly, but her reflection in the window gives her away; her smile is more genuine than it’s been in months.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! A huge, belated thank you to everyone's sweet comments and words of get-well encouragement on the last chapter. I'm not 100% but am getting there, and this story has been great motivation!

If anyone—so really, just Blair—asks, Sterling did not say yes to the job because of April.

It’s a no brainer. Sure, speechwriting isn’t the career path she envisioned for herself, not exactly the role she’s been working towards, but she has the opportunity to help get a smart, competent woman elected to the highest office in the country. And she’ll get to travel the world, meet all sorts of people in high places, have doors opened to her that her little press badge could never budge. She’d be a fool to turn it down.

Saying yes to joining April’s team has very little to do with April as a person, Sterling decides. Her decision has nothing to do with April’s smile, for example, or the twinkle in her eyes, or the purposeful way she says Sterling’s name, like it’s the most important word in the English language. It has nothing to do with the fact that Sterling still can’t give herself an orgasm without thinking about April’s hand on her arm.

(Early sexual experiences have a way of imprinting, she’s rationalized over the years. It’s surely more about the circumstance of her first orgasm than anything about April herself.)

It has nothing to do with any of those things, because it can’t. Because April is about to be elected President, if Sterling does her job right, and that’s a pretty effective full-stop to a relationship with anyone. Much less a relationship with _Sterling_ , a just-fired journalist in her mid-thirties who still spends her Friday nights crying over old episodes of Grey’s Anatomy with her sister on FaceTime.

Besides, April isn’t even out. So there’s really no use even thinking about it.

Sterling’s been reminding herself of these facts off and on over the last week since she accepted April’s offer. It feels like a mantra—a long, rambly one—or maybe a prayer: _Lord, give me the strength to remember why I’m here. Give me the strength to be a competent adult rather than a hormonal teenager. Give me the—_

“Sterling?”

Sterling looks up from her lap, shaking off her thoughts. Right, she’s here at April’s office—the Secretary of State’s office—for a meeting. A meeting to discuss the speeches that Sterling’s been hired to write. Which she can do, in fact, because she’s a professional adult woman.

A professional adult woman whose eyes are immediately drawn to April’s bare calves beneath the hem of her dress, at the way she leans against the doorway on one heel, the other already behind her in midair, like even the act of fully standing feels like a waste of time.

“Yes,” Sterling prompts herself, standing up and following April into her office. The space is smaller than Sterling expected, but still intimidating in its lushness, its oldness. April sits down at her desk—God, she looks _good_ there, so at home—and motions for Sterling to sit across from her.

“So,” April begins. “According to the focus groups, the key element that I’m missing is _relatability._ ” She says the word with a practiced neutrality, but Sterling senses some bitterness underneath. “Which is where you come in.”

“Relatability is a code word,” Sterling acknowledges.

“For not being a bitch.”

“Exactly. As I’m sure you know, it’s a concept female candidates have to contend with far more than male ones. I’ve always tried to keep that word out of my writing, as a general rule.”

April’s mouth quirks to the side. “I’ve noticed. Your writing is…unique, in that way. I appreciate it.”

Sterling tries not to let on how much the compliment means to her, offering a simple, “Thank you.”

“Anyway, apparently I come across as a little, well, _too much_ seems to be the general takeaway, which is, frankly, ridiculous, because as far as I’m concerned, one can’t have _too much_ competence when it comes to leading a country. I suppose many American people would rather—”

“I don’t think you’re too much,” Sterling cuts in before she can stop herself. “I never have.”

April looks up at her sharply, the rest of her rant evaporating into the air between them. Sterling is triggered into a fusion of memories: her family’s garage, the smell of paint, trying desperately to get a gauge on how April might react to the prospect of gay people even existing, then days later, in the back of the Volt, April declaring that she wanted to ravage Sterling. Two instances of Sterling assuring April that she wasn’t too much, of knowing in her gut that she never could be because Sterling wanted to experience all of her, of feeling the lick of desire and yearning to free fall into April’s burning intensity.

Sterling suddenly senses that she’s brought a peculiar charge into the conversation, so she quickly adds, “I just mean, I think you’re the right woman for the job.”

April clears her throat. “Well, yes. Obviously, I think so, too. So how are we going to make the American people agree with you?”

Sterling scoots forward a little. “I think a key element is making you someone people could picture at home. The whole ‘you could have a beer with him’ angle.” April scoffs, and Sterling continues, “I know, I know, it’s silly that that even matters, but it does. So, what do you like to do when you’re not working?” She pulls her laptop out of her bag, setting it on her lap.

April’s look is incredulous. “That’s a joke, right? I’m always working.”

“C’mon, there’s gotta be something.”

“I work out. I watch the news.”

“Don’t you have, like, a favorite TV show? That isn’t CNN?”

April shakes her head. “I read the synopses of current shows and movies just to stay on top of the cultural conversation, but I haven’t watched a full episode of anything since…the last election?”

Sterling's eyes bug out. “That’s…wow, okay. Books? Pets? Hobbies?”

“I listen to audiobooks about politics. Pets are a distraction, though when I’m elected maybe I’ll get one. I do miss having a cat.”

Sterling smiles. “Did you ever have another one after Sergeant Bilko?” Immediately she realizes her mistake— _wow, Sterling, way to sound like a stalker_ —by the way April’s jaw slackens.

“You remember the name of my cat from high school?”

“It’s an…unusual name,” Sterling replies weakly.

April regards her strangely but swiftly moves on. “I did have another cat. In college. And well, I like to cook. Not that I’ve gotten to do much of it in the last four years, but—”

“Hey, it’s something!” Sterling jots that down, and is still looking at her laptop when she asks with rehearsed casualness, “What about dating?”

April snorts. “Yeah, that’s a definite no.”

“No as in you don’t date?”

“No as in we won’t be discussing that.”

Sterling swallows, recrosses her ankles. “And why is that?”

April’s posture stiffens. “Sterling, I know you live in your little liberal, coastal bubble, but you cannot seriously expect me to run for President as an out lesbian.”

“I—I didn’t expect anything—”

“Look, if you only said yes to the job because you think I’m running on some kind of ‘we’re here, we’re queer’ platform, then perhaps this isn’t a good idea. It’s hard enough to get the country comfortable with a progressive female candidate, I’m not going to throw away—”

“ _April_ ,” Sterling cuts in loudly, surprised by the sternness in her own voice. “Stop assuming things about me.”

April blinks, clearly taken aback, clearly not used to be commanded so directly.

“I understand,” Sterling continues.

“You do?”

Sterling nods. It’s the truth. “If you were running as a Republican and just wanted to stay in the closet so you could make life worse for oppressed people, I’d honestly lose all respect for you. But you’re trying to do good. And that means actually getting you across the finish line, right?”

“Right,” April agrees. “Well, I guess I’m not the only one who’s changed.”

Sterling’s belly swirls with an anxiety that she’s accustomed to; regret and confusion, the familiar throb of _what if?_ She pushes the feeling aside, the memories of a bench and her first real heartbreak and her younger self’s naive refusal to entertain anything less than total honesty slipping away as she focuses on the very real April sitting in front of her.

“Yeah,” she replies. “You have no idea.”

\----

The whole flight to London, Sterling can’t stop commenting on how fancy the plane is. April is well aware that she should be annoyed, but she finds herself charmed, against her better judgment, though she makes sure to plaster on a scowl whenever she feels Ezequiel looking at her.

When they land, Sterling immediately takes a phone call, and April isn’t really paying attention to it until she hears the words, “Yes, Addy, I love you, too.”

April’s skin prickles. In all of the reconnaissance her team conducted on Sterling, there was no mention of a girlfriend. Which is fine; of course Sterling is allowed to have a girlfriend, that part doesn’t bother April, not at all. It’s more the fact that her team’s careful combing through Sterling’s personal and professional life could have missed this detail. It’s sloppy.

“Girlfriend?” April questions mildly once Sterling hangs up the phone.

Sterling looks confused before her face breaks into a wide smile. “No! Oh my gosh, that’s so funny. No, that was Addison, Blair’s daughter. You didn’t hear me say hi to Blair first?”

April feels her face redden, ridiculously. “I must have missed that part. I wasn’t aware that Blair had a daughter. Is she married?”

Sterling shakes her head. “She and her long-time boyfriend got pregnant about five years ago, but he decided he didn’t want to be a dad, and she was heartbroken for, like, two seconds before being all ‘single moms are badass.’ And, I mean, she’s not wrong. Addison is awesome.”

April frowns. Blair Wesley as a mother is just about as hard to fathom as…well. As hard to fathom as Sterling Wesley sitting here with April on Air Force Two.

“You’ll meet her at some point, I’m sure,” Sterling adds, easy as anything, as though she and April are old friends at a cookout, or something.

“So you don’t have a girlfriend?” Ezequiel asks from beside April. She had honestly forgotten he was there. “Or a boyfriend?”

April is caught between wanting to kick him or kiss him (in a totally platonic way) for the directness of the question.

“No,” Sterling says with a shrug. “I’m very, very single.”

“Huh,” Ezequiel replies, lightly digging an elbow into April’s side. “What fascinating information.”

Oh, he’ll pay for this.

“Not so fascinating,” April declares. She pushes the strangeness of the interaction away, the bizarre flood of relief that she feels to learn that Addy is not, in fact, the name of Sterling’s secret girlfriend. There are more important things to focus on, like their reason for actually being here.

The World Leaders Summit will be a good showcase, April knows; an opportunity for her to shine as a bright, progressive prospect for the United States. Plus it’s Sterling first real exposure to this world, a fact which fills April with a curious mixture of nervousness and pride.

She feels good about the speech that Sterling’s helped her write. It’s confident but still humble, implying April’s status as the clear right next choice for President without coming right out about her intention to run, a stage that they haven’t formally reached yet.

The charade of dressing up and schmoozing is one of April’s least favorite parts of the job, but she’s a total pro at this point, and she does like her dress for tonight’s event. It’s a gorgeous forest green A-line gown, and when she puts it on she can’t help but think about what she might wear to her inaugural ball. A thought that she quickly files away when her mind wanders to who she might be dancing with.

“Wow,” Sterling gapes when the team convenes before heading into the event, eyes raking up and down April’s body. “You look…um. Wow.”

“You already said that,” April teases.

“It bears repeating.”

“I’d think a journalist could be more articulate.”

“Well—”

“Excuse me,” Ezequiel interjects, staring at April pointedly. “Don’t we have someplace to be?”

“Of course,” April replies stiffly, leading the charge into the banquet hall, actively not noticing how pretty Sterling looks in her one-shoulder blue dress. (Sterling’s delight over having people dress her for this and future events is another thing April probably shouldn’t have been so charmed by.)

April’s speech isn’t until the end of the evening. First there’s the endless cocktail hour, followed by the multi-course dinner and many long round of ass-kissing. Sterling seems to watch April with an intense focus, as though she’s documenting April’s every interaction. Which makes sense, April reasons, since that’s basically Sterling’s job now, but it doesn’t account for the heat April feels beneath Sterling’s gaze. April is used to being watched, but something about being watched by Sterling makes her feel dizzy and nervous. It’s truly pathetic.

Somewhere between the third and fourth course, when Sterling and April are the only ones at their table, Daniel Hobart, Canada’s Prime Minister, heads toward them. April’s smile tightens as she prepares for the inevitable photo-op. His grin is big and dopey as he settles into the empty chair beside April, already loudly making a joke that April forces a laugh at.

“And who is this?” Daniel asks, nodding toward Sterling.

April introduces the two of them, noticing the way Sterling’s brow furrows as their palms connect. April senses a camera hovering nearby and leans in close to Daniel, his arm sliding around her waist easily as they pose for the photo. She lets him get closer than she would most people, and if possible, she can feel Sterling’s gaze burning brighter.

“Maybe I’ll see you on the dance floor, Madam Secretary?” Daniel asks before heading back to his table. April offers a noncommittal nod, focusing back on her overly intricate smoked salmon rather than Sterling’s face.

“What was that?” Sterling asks softly.

“Hmm?”

“That man was flirting with you. And I think you were flirting back.” There’s a note of accusation in Sterling’s tone that makes April’s stomach swoop.

“That _man_ is the Prime Minister of Canada.”

“Yes, I know. Is he—what? Like your beard, or something? I’ve seen pics of the two of you together before.”

April shakes her head. “Nothing that formal. More like…an insurance policy. It doesn’t hurt to have people think that I’m—that we’re—”

Sterling snorts. “Ah, okay. Got it.”

“Sterling,” April says lowly, and the banquet hall is loud but she knows Sterling can hear her. “We discussed this. You said you understood.”

Sterling pushes a sweet potato around with her fork. “I _do_ understand. But, I don’t know. There’s a difference between not being out and doing…that. Full-on pretending.”

“No, there isn’t,” April replies, knitting her hands together under the table. “Not in politics.”

“Are you going to come out when you’re elected?”

April's breath leaves her lungs. Partially at Sterling’s certainty that she will win, but also at the forwardness of the question, one that April is suddenly positive Sterling’s been dying to ask since she took the job.

“It’s complicated,” April says.

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“No,” April snaps. “You don’t get to act like it’s easy. It’s not. But I’ve had to make sacrifices. I thought we were on the same page about that.”

“What kind of life is that?” Sterling asks.

April knows her gaze is cold as she looks into Sterling’s eyes. “It’s _my_ life.” She stands up, smoothing her dress. “I need to practice my speech.”

“April—”

“You don’t have to be here,” April whispers fiercely. “You know that, right?”

“I want to be,” Sterling insists, her voice sounding a little rough and scratchy, all of a sudden.

April hates to be the cause of that. She knows that she’s hurt Sterling in the past and she never, ever wants to be the cause of that pain again.

But instead she says, “Then act like it,” before stomping off.

April’s speech is a smashing success. When she’s finished, the entire room rises to their feet with cheers and applause. Ezequiel offers an emphatic whistle.

April stands in the middle of the stage, basking in her success, trying to focus solely on the pride she feels rather than the way that her heart aches, looking at every face in the crowd except for Sterling’s.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a brief content warning: there's a threat of life-threatening violence against our main characters in this chapter, but no one actually gets hurt.

“You’ve gotta admit,” Blair says on the FaceTime call. “There’s some kinda weird cosmic juju about you trying to get April Stevens to come out of the closet again twenty years after y’all hooked up. I mean, I did _not_ have that on my getting-older bingo card.”

“I’m not trying to get her to come out,” Sterling argues. She rakes a hand through her hair, staring up at the ceiling of her hotel room. It’s been a few days since the Summit, and now they’re in Stockholm. “I’m merely…questioning her future intentions.”

“Sounds like journalist doublespeak for trying to get her to come out,” Blair replies. She’s sitting in her car waiting for Addison to get out of school, fingers tapping impatiently against the dashboard.

“No, I—”

“Riddle me this, then: if April was a closeted gay male politician who you weren’t attracted to and had zero chance with, would the whole flirting with a dude thing bother you so much?”

Sterling forces a small laugh, trying to ignore the way Blair’s call-out makes her heart pound harder. “Well, if a gay male politician was flirting with another dude, I’d probably tell him to go for it.”

Blair frowns at her. “Sterl, c’mon. You know what I mean. Is it the closet part or the April part that’s bugging you?”

“Who said something’s bugging me?”

“Uh, your face?”

Sterling scowls, then rearranges her expression into a more neutral one. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. It’s April’s life, like she said.”

Blair breathes through her nose before saying more gently, “You know you don’t have to do this, right? If this job is too challenging or compromising your integrity or whatever, there’s no shame in quitting.”

“Do _you_ think I’m compromising my integrity?”

Blair seems to consider that, shaking her head. “I mean, April’s one of the good guys, right? As much as a power-hungry politician can ever be a good guy? It’s not like you’re selling your soul to evil conservatives.”

Sterling picks at the edge of a pillowcase. It’s more or less a thought she’s already verbalized, but there’s more power in hearing Blair say it. “I like working for her, I think,” she says quietly.

Blair’s furrowed brow slips into a smirk. “Oh yeah, working for her, with her, under her…”

Sterling feels herself start to flush, embarrassingly. “That’s not what I meant!” she insists.

Blair is practically cackling by now. “Sure, sure, no, I gotcha.” Her eyes go wide. “Hey, if she wins do you think she’ll go down on you in the Oval Office? Or should I say, Oral Office?”

And dammit if that isn’t a scenario Sterling’s already considered a few times since she took this job.

“Get it: _Oral_ Office?” Blair prompts.

“I, um…”

Blair smacks her hands delightedly on the dashboard. “Oh shit, you’ve totally thought about it, haven’t you? Talk about material for the old Sterling spank bank!”

“Please never say that phrase to me again.”

“That’s not a no!”

“I’m hanging up now!” Sterling chirps, and she can still hear Blair’s laugh as she ends the call.

The vibe between her and April is tense the next morning, as it has been for the past few days. April is keeping her at arm’s distance, Sterling can tell—treating Sterling like someone she barely knows rather than a person she shares an entire history with.

Sterling waits until it’s just the two of them alone in the hotel hallway (or, as alone as April ever is, when her bodyguard Tom is always nearby) before saying softly, “I’m sorry.”

April has been digging through her bag but looks up as soon as Sterling speaks. “What for?”

“How you choose to handle all of this is your business,” Sterling continues. “I shouldn’t have—well, it’s up to you.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to stay.” If it was anyone else Sterling might take that as a backhanded invitation to leave, but she understands April well enough to know that this is a test.

“I want to,” Sterling assures her, and any doubt she had about that is immediately erased by the brilliant smile April gives her in response.

“Alright. Then let’s get to work.”

The next few weeks pass in a haze of timezones, meetings with world leaders, clothing fittings, sleep deprivation, and Sterling’s laptop basically being glued to her lap. She starts to learn April’s food preferences (she will always try something new if offered, but if she doesn’t like it after one bite, she’ll nod at Ezequiel and he’ll discreetly discard the offending food), her sleep schedule (which is to say a lack of schedule; April has a frankly disturbing ability to micro-nap standing up), the difference between her genuine laugh and her fake one (similar to how it was in high school, but more refined), and the look on her face when she wants to go off on a rant about something but realizes she needs to hold herself in check (it’s not a dissimilar expression to her Forensics face, and it should not turn Sterling on as much as it does).

There’s a softness about April that seems to come out only at certain hours, if they’ve been flying all night or they’ve been working on a speech for most of the evening. She’ll kick off her heels (April will spend all day in heels but she despises wearing them), give Sterling that familiar lopsided smile, and let herself get a little more real. These moments are when Sterling finds out when April decided to run for President (“When I learned how to talk,” she quips, before adding more sincerely, “After I started working as a prosecutor and realized how broken the system is.”), the story of her first “real” relationship (with a girl in college named Talia; they broke up because April prioritized growing her resumé over their relationship), and whether she stays in touch with any relatives back home (only her mom).

Something in Sterling starts to crack open, getting to experience this side of April. It’s not just that these stories humanize her in a way that makes speechwriting easier. It’s that Sterling is getting to know the real, honest April, the one who exists behind the glossy magazine spread, the one who made Sterling’s maxilla go numb all those years ago in an arcade. A statement from years past floats through Sterling’s brain— _“I want to know all of you, and the world should know all of you, too.”_ —and she knows the memory might be dangerous but she can’t help holding the feeling close.

In Budapest, Sterling convinces April to watch at least a season each of the _Real Housewives_ and _T_ _he Great British Bake-Off_ , insisting that the plot synopses don’t do them justice.

(“ _Real Housewives_ will make you kind of hate humanity,” Sterling explains, “but then _GBBO_ will restore your faith in it.”

“Well, we might as well start at the beginning,” April replies. “If we’re going to do it, we should do it right.”

And Sterling suppresses the way that statement makes her feel, at the idea of the _it_ she’d very much like to do right with April, merely pressing play on the first episode.)

April becomes obsessed with both franchises, naturally, and this turns into their shared way to unwind after both of their brains are just too tired to function anymore. More than once April falls asleep with her head on Sterling’s shoulder, so watching trashy reality TV with April kind of becomes Sterling’s new favorite activity.

Ezequiel walks in on them once—not that he’s really walking _in_ on anything, but it sort of feels like it by the way his eyes widen at the sight of April’s head nuzzled into the side of Sterling’s neck. And yeah, maybe Sterling wrapped her arm around April’s shoulders, but it’s just so they can be more comfortable. She’s totally not actively smelling April’s shampoo, or anything.

Sterling’s mouth opens to defend herself, or offer an explanation, but Ezequiel just holds up a hand. “Don’t worry,” he whispers. “It’s just good to see her actually relaxed.”

Sterling nods against the top of April’s head, not exactly sure how to respond. Before Ezequiel leaves the room, she’d swear he winks at her.

\----

It’s not like April has spent a lot of time reflecting on her relationship with Sterling these last eighteen years. She’s been rather busy getting educated and accomplished in her field. She basically left Atlanta and never looked back, has worked harder than just about anyone to get where she is.

Sure, Sterling has crossed her mind here and there, but more in a wondering-how-she’s-doing way than a thinking-about-their-relationship one. But now that Sterling’s officially a fixture in April’s life once more, it’s hard not to ruminate on the time they spent together in high school. Particularly, April’s found herself fixated on everything that happened following the dreadful junior year lock-in.

About a week after that awful night, on Sterling’s first day back at school after an unexplained absence, April had found her crying in the bathroom and hadn’t been able to resist asking what was wrong. Sterling had looked up at her with so much heartbreak before telling April a truly wild story about thinking she was going to die and learning of her mother’s secret twin and her own secret not-twin. April had said the right things, had held Sterling while she cried, had apologized for putting Sterling in a situation to be kidnapped in the first place.

The feeling of guilt rattled in her chest for days after, accompanied by an inconvenient hope that maybe something new could bloom between them now that Sterling had entrusted her with this information. Maybe they couldn’t be together as a couple, not with John back home, but friendship wasn’t entirely off the table, surely. Sterling seemed to have mostly forgiven her for the Luke thing, and the bench thing—April figured having one’s whole life turned upside down was a hell of a way to gain perspective—and for the next few weeks April actually felt okay about the situation between them.

And then her daddy had sat her down with a gleam in his eye, announcing that he had some interesting information about Sterling and Blair Wesley, and April was so certain he was going to reveal that he knew about her hookup with Sterling that she didn’t even hear him the first time he said, “Those godless skanks turned me in.”

April legitimately thought the world might end right then and there, with the revelation that the one genuinely good thing in her life this past year had been anything but; with the understanding that Sterling Wesley—who valued honesty above all else, who had begged April to tell the truth, had manipulated April into exposing the deepest parts of herself with her big, blinking eyes and stupid, pretty smile—had in fact been lying the entire time.

April had cornered both Wesleys after school the next day, announcing that if they knew what was good for them, they’d stay out of her way for the rest of their time at Willingham, or she’d make their lives a living hell. She’d stomped away before letting herself look at Sterling’s face, then locked herself in her car and sobbed for a good twenty minutes.

Sterling, for her part, listened, as did Blair. The two sisters seemed to be even more of a unit post-family revelations, which in some ways made it easier to hate them; when April looked at them (which wasn’t often, as much as she could help it) she trained herself to see an amorphous blob of Wesley nonsense, all grossly tangled together, rather than a singular point of distraction and heartbreak in the form of just Sterling.

It was only a few weeks before graduation when April felt herself start to thaw. There wasn’t one particular thing she could point to to account for that. Maybe it was a combination of factors: her dad being back in jail, her parents officially divorcing, the knowledge that in a matter of months she’d be at Harvard, the surprising moment when her mom asked April point blank if she was a lesbian and April was too stunned to do anything but nod, only for her mom to smile and say, “Okay.”

For whatever reason, or perhaps all of those reasons, April couldn’t muster up hatred for Sterling Wesley anymore. It just didn’t seem worth it, not when April figured that she might never see Sterling again after leaving Georgia. She didn’t go for any type of grand gesture of reconciliation, she just sort of…stopped putting effort into despising Sterling. Stopped dodging her in the hallway and making bitchy comments behind her back.

Sterling had always been the type to take a mile if given an inch, at least as far as affection was concerned, so she started talking to April. Just short little conversations about homework, or college plans, nothing too serious. But this time April responded. And that’s how they trudged toward graduation, as two former best friends-turned-enemies-turned-almost-girlfriends-turned-enemies-turned-polite acquaintances. And April really, genuinely thought that’s all they’d ever be.

Until now.

“ _Star Wars_!” Sterling says, snapping her fingers.

April frowns up at her. They’ve been working in relative silence for the last forty-five minutes here in April’s hotel room in Barcelona. Sterling’s been editing a speech and April’s been reading through campaign documents while lightly reflecting on her and Sterling’s relationship trajectory.

“What about _Star Wars_?” April asks.

“That’s a totally easy way to make people like you. I mean—duh, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier. You love _Star Wars_ , right?”

April pulls off her glasses, pressing the pads of her thumb and forefinger to her brow bone. “Not anymore.”

“Oh, c’mon. Outing yourself as a sci-fi nerd is a great move. Makes you endearing. Or, more endearing.” Sterling grins.

April shakes her head firmly. “No _Star Wars_ stuff.”

“Why?” April is quiet for a second and Sterling fills in the blanks, lips parting slightly: “Because of your dad?”

There’s no point in denying it. “It was our thing. Now it just…brings up lots of bad memories.”

Sterling scoots a little closer to her on the couch. “Hey, you shouldn’t let him ruin something you love. Hasn’t he already ruined enough?”

She probably doesn’t mean it that way, but April’s memory can’t help but flicker to their teen years, to John upending her relationship with Sterling at least twice-over. It occurs to April that in all the time she and Sterling have spent together lately, this is, pointedly, the first time he’s come up.

"April, I—" Sterling starts.

“Well, now I’m a reality TV fan,” April cuts in, eager to lighten the mood. “Maybe we can run with that, instead.” When Sterling opens her mouth, April adds flatly, “I’m joking. No one needs to know the kind of trash we consume.”

“You love our trash!”

“Debatable.”

Sterling giggles, seeming grateful for the break in tension, and they resume working for a few more minutes. April isn’t aware of what her hands are doing until she hears Sterling ask, “You okay there?”

April looks down, seeing that she’s dug her fingers into the balls of her feet, which she realizes are absolutely aching. “Damn heels. They’ve destroyed my arches.”

Sterling pats her lap. “Stretch out. I’ll massage ’em.”

April feels her eyebrows shoot up. “You want to massage my feet?”

“Not in a _weird_ way,” Sterling insists, though her face has gotten a little red. “But it’ll help, I bet.”

And maybe it’s weird, but April is tired, so she stretches her legs into Sterling’s lap, working hard to seem very engrossed in the documents at hand as Sterling starts rubbing her feet.

“Feels good,” she comments mildly, because it does, it feels really good, but it also makes April keenly aware of the other ways in which she wants Sterling to touch her. When Sterling’s hands circle her ankles, April is suddenly struck with a vision of Sterling tugging her closer until their hips meet.

She thinks about how easy it would be to throw a leg over Sterling’s, to grind herself to an orgasm against Sterling’s thigh. She’s sure it would only take a couple of minutes, even with her leggings still on; it’s been so long since anyone touched her like that, she’s basically a coiled spring.

But oh, that wouldn’t be enough. She’d need to see Sterling fall apart, too. She’d need to reach a hand between their bodies and slip it inside Sterling’s pants, need to watch the look on Sterling’s face as April curled two fingers inside her, hear the hitch in her breath when April’s thumb found her clit.

This frantic, clothes-on fantasy is simpler to stomach than the alternative: slow, purposeful sex in a bed, April taking her time, lavishing attention on every part of Sterling’s bare skin, looking into Sterling’s eyes as she kissed her way down Sterling’s body. That scenario is too intense, too emotional, too likely for April to give something up to Sterling that she could never get back.

“Too much pressure?” Sterling asks, voice full of concern.

April blinks. “Huh?”

“You, like, fully stopped breathing.”

April clears her throat. Jesus, she needs to get ahold of herself. “I’m fine.”

Sterling bites her lip. “I like this,” she says quietly.

“You like—“

And just then the door to April’s hotel room is bursting open, and there stands her bodyguard, Tom, with Ezequiel right behind him. April yanks her legs away from Sterling, but not before Ezequiel’s mouth drops open.

“Okay, we’re definitely processing _that_ later,” Ezequiel announces. “But right now, we gotta move.”

April sits up ramrod straight. “What’s going on?”

“Bomb threat, m’am,” Tom replies. “C’mon, we gotta get you two to the safe house.”

“Safe house?!” Sterling echoes.

April takes her hand instinctively as they rise to their feet. “It’s okay,” she says to no one in particular. “We’re clearing the building, yeah?”

Tom nods. April can feel Sterling trembling beside her but she can’t focus on that. It’s all sort of a blur as they’re ushered out of the hotel and into a town car, driven to the secure bunker nearby and locked in a room that no one but a select few know about. All the while, Sterling doesn’t leave her side. April wouldn’t dream of letting her go, and it may not be protocol but not a soul questions it.

April doesn’t refocus on Sterling until Tom has confirmed that the building is cleared, that there in fact was no bomb, and that everyone is safe. He leaves the bunker momentarily to check in with the rest of the security team, and April finally looks at Sterling, who seems to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Are you okay?” April asks, a ridiculous question, she knows.

“A bomb threat?!” Sterling sputters.

April is sitting on the floor and looks up at Sterling with what she hopes is a calming expression. “It honestly comes with the territory as a politician. Particularly a female one.”

Sterling shakes her head in disbelief. “And you’re just cool with it?”

“Not cool with it. But used to it. You saw how quickly everyone sprung into action.”

“We could have died!” Sterling exclaims.

“C’mon, Sterl, you’ve been in life and death situations before,” April points out, even though she knows Sterling’s past the point of logic. “You were a teenage bounty hunter, after all.”

“Yeah, but that was, like, petty, small-town stuff. Not a _bomb threat_ against a government official!” She paces the length of the bunker, then back again.

“Hey, it wasn’t real.”

“But it could have been! We had to act like it was! What if—” Sterling stops pacing and her words hitch. “What if we’d gotten hurt?”

April rises to her feet, catching Sterling’s hands in hers. “Nobody would have allowed that to happen.”

“What if I’d—”

“I would never let anything bad happen to you,” April says firmly, the statement feeling heavy in her chest. “Do you understand?”

Sterling’s eyes are filling with tears. “You can’t control everything.”

April raises one hand to Sterling’s cheek, catching a tear with her thumb. “I know,” she admits. “This is really intense.”

“I never thought about it,” Sterling whispers shakily.

“About…?”

“People wanting…bad things to happen to you.”

“Hey,” April murmurs. “I’m here. I’m safe. And so are you.” She impulsively presses Sterling’s palm to her chest, letting Sterling feel the beat of her heart, the proof of her aliveness.

Sterling nods slowly, that reminder seeming to settle something in her. And then, in a move that makes April gasp, Sterling’s other hand grips April’s hip, pulling her in closer until their foreheads are touching.

April swallows hard. They’re so close that she can both hear and feel Sterling’s breath. “I’m fine,” April reiterates, a weak attempt at staying in their previous exchange. The hand against her heart slides upward until Sterling is clutching the back of her neck. She can’t really see Sterling’s eyes but knows that they’re staring at her lips. April feels every hair on her body stand on end as she anticipates what’s next.

No sooner has April made up her mind that if Sterling kisses her, she will kiss back, then the door is opening and Tom is there again. “Oh!” he says in surprise. “Sorry.” He chuckles awkwardly. “Twice in one night.”

April jumps back from Sterling, immediately missing the warmth of her hands. “Are we good to go?”

“Yep,” Tom confirms. “Helicopter ready to take us someplace safe.”

April can’t even look at Sterling in the helicopter ride. She thinks that if she does she might just break, either smiling too big or bursting into tears or turning into a puddle of hormonal goo.

They arrive at the island sometime in the middle of the night. April offers Sterling a stiff goodnight before retiring to her room, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that she won’t be able to sleep. She tosses and turns for a good hour, replaying the day’s intense emotional whiplash: fear mixed with lust, strength mixed with vulnerability.

God, she’d wanted to kiss Sterling, and Sterling wanted to kiss her, and she’s pretty sure it wasn’t just because she thought the world was ending.

It isn’t a good idea, but April figures her life was on the line today, so maybe she’s earned the right to make a few mistakes. Maybe for just one night she can let herself feel and _want_ rather than needing to lock everything up tight.

That’s the rationale playing in her mind as she raises her security phone to her ear a little before three a.m. and asks Tom to send Sterling to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, a staple of my writing is Sterling massaging April! Also, let's not worry over the details of how bomb threats against government officials are actually handled, yeah?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get pretty steamy here, folks. Also, in my mind the first section of this chapter is scored to Otis Redding’s version of Try a Little Tenderness. You might enjoy listening to that in the background while reading.

Sterling figures Tom must be used to arranging political booty calls by the casually discreet way he lets her into April’s suite. His attitude is in sharp contrast to Sterling’s; she’s basically been shaking ever since the bomb threat, first out of fear and then out of a combination of longing and anticipation. She was, honestly, just about to try and get herself off—needing an outlet for the pent up emotions of the evening, praying that a release might help her get to sleep—when Tom arrived at her door.

Now, though, she’s more awake than ever. _April sent for her in the middle of the night._ Sterling really can’t imagine a platonic, speechwriter-y reason for that choice. There’s something so hot and a little filthy about it—the idea that April might be just as desperate for this as she’s been. Sterling kind of feels like Marilyn Monroe.

Hopefully minus the tragic death.

April shoots a grateful smile at Tom when they enter her suite, and he nods before closing the door on his way out. April’s changed into a silky pajama set that probably costs more than Sterling’s rent, and she’s brushed her hair out so it’s long and shiny down her back. Sterling thinks April might have put on some sweet-smelling perfume, which makes her stomach clench at the implication.

When it’s just the two of them, Sterling stands against the door, breathing shallowly. April stands in front of her, close enough to touch, but she keeps her hands to herself. Her fingers flex at her sides, her eyes refuse to settle on one thing.

April’s nervous, Sterling realizes. More nervous than she was when they literally might have died earlier today.

“I think we should talk about what happened,” April says softly, finally meeting Sterling’s eyes.

“Something happened?” Sterling jokes, because she can’t help it. April raises a weary eyebrow. “Sorry.” Sterling rolls her lips together. “I, um, sort of didn’t think you asked me here to talk.”

“And if I didn’t?”

“That would be very okay with me.”

April shakes her head, looking down again. “Sterling, I don’t—my life is incredibly complicated, as you’re well aware. I have no idea how something like this would fit in.”

“Maybe you don’t have to know right now,” Sterling offers. She can hear the pleading in her own voice, which is probably a little ridiculous considering that April is the one who asked her here, but some part of her knew that April would have to debate herself on this before fully giving in to her desires. “You can’t plan every little thing.”

“Wanna bet?”

“That’s a bet I’d win, I think.” Sterling expects April to say something quippy in response but she stays silent.

“What do you want?” Sterling asks, clarifying, “Not, like, future president April, but human woman April?”

April stares into her eyes for a very long moment, lips parted. Sterling shivers under her gaze. She feels totally naked, her body reacting as though April is touching her, nipples hardening beneath the soft cotton of her pajama shirt.

“You,” April replies.

And _fuck_ , if Sterling doesn’t nearly collapse right then and there.

“Oh,” she manages to get out. “Well, then you can have me. You can have all of me.”

“All of you?” April echoes, voice high and disbelieving.

Sterling nods emphatically. “Yes, oh my God, yes.”

April takes a small step forward, pressing her hands against the door on either side of Sterling. Sterling loops her arms around the small of April’s back, pulling her in closer until their bodies are flush together. God, it feels good, the soft press of April’s breasts against her own, the warmth and solidness of having her right here instead of just out of reach.

April gazes up at her with an expression Sterling isn’t sure she’s ever seen before. It’s not quite the confident smirk she remembers from their teenage makeouts, nor is it the soft smile Sterling’s glimpsed in their quiet moments together. There’s a heat behind the look, but a vulnerability, too. Yearning mixed with a question, a need to know whether this is actually okay.

Sterling answers by kissing her. April inhales sharply, kissing Sterling back hungrily, teeth catching her bottom lip before her tongue slips into Sterling’s mouth. Sterling’s hands slide down, cupping April’s ass so she can hitch April up a little higher, pull her in even closer, while April’s arms lock behind Sterling’s neck.

It’s familiar but different, too. Their bodies are older, softer in some places and firmer in others. They both fully know what they’re doing, now. April kisses with the same intensity that’s burned into Sterling’s memory, but there’s a confidence, a practiced refinement to her movements, as she fists a hand in Sterling’s hair and drags her tongue up the side of Sterling’s neck, as she wedges a knee between Sterling’s legs, as she rises on her toes, getting a better angle to lick into Sterling’s mouth.

Sterling’s hands find the hem of April’s fancy pajama top. “Can I—?” she asks between kisses, and April nods against her.

As she pulls off April’s top Sterling is struck with the strange, juvenile thought that it’s been twenty years and she’s still never touched April’s boobs. That situation is quickly remedied by April grabbing Sterling’s hands and pressing them against her chest, moaning into Sterling’s mouth as Sterling squeezes, then pinches April’s nipples gently between her fingers.

Sterling is overpowered by a feral need to hear what other noises she can pull from April, so she slips her hands behind April’s back and lowers her mouth to April’s chest, swirling her tongue over one of April’s nipples and then the other. It’s a bit of a weird position considering their height difference, with Sterling slouching against the door, but it’s impossible to care about that when April is gasping her name above her.

“Bed,” April practically growls, hand circling Sterling’s wrist to pull her away from the door, and the next thing Sterling knows her back is flat against the mattress and April is straddling her hips, peering down at her intently.

“Hi,” Sterling whispers, a silly thing, but April grins. She’s so fucking pretty, eyes shining, hair mussed and falling down around them, that Sterling can hardly breathe. Then April bends down to press biting kisses along Sterling’s throat, fingers quickly unbuttoning Sterling’s pajama shirt, and Sterling really can’t breathe.

April’s hands glide across Sterling’s stomach, one settling at her hip and the other cupping her breast. April licks a path down to Sterling’s other breast, teeth grazing her nipple. Sterling’s back arches, every hair on her body standing on end, the ache between her thighs turning into a throb.

The hand on Sterling’s hip slides lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of Sterling’s pajama pants. April’s lips follow along as she kisses her way between Sterling’s breasts and down her stomach. Sterling’s eyes are screwed shut, hands fisted in the sheets, relishing in every single second of this, but when April stops moving Sterling blinks her eyes open and looks down at her.

April is staring up from between Sterling’s legs, which is such a gorgeous sight that Sterling shudders. April’s pupils are blown and she’s breathing hard, but the question is back in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

Sterling lets out a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “April, I’ve literally spent over half my life thinking about this. Yes, I’m extremely sure.” It’s a bizarre thing to verbalize, solidifying just how long Sterling’s been waiting for this moment.

“I mean, no pressure,” she adds earnestly.

Any concern or hesitation immediately evaporates from April’s face, replaced by a smirk that somehow makes Sterling even wetter. “Lucky for you, I’ve always performed extraordinarily well under pressure.”

“Oh God,” Sterling breathes, tipping her head back against the mattress as April finishes pulling her pajama pants and underwear off. Sterling spreads her legs wide as April settles herself between them, scratching her nails lightly along the outside of Sterling’s thighs.

“April,” Sterling whimpers when April trails slow kisses up from Sterling’s knee to her hip, lingering there for what feels like forever. She might as well be miles from where Sterling needs her.

“Hmm?” April starts in on the other knee, the kisses even slower this time, as though she has all the time in the world, clearly enjoying the fact that Sterling is basically dying from how turned on she is.

“Please,” Sterling whines without a care for her dignity.

“Please what?” April teases, actually fully pausing when she reaches halfway up Sterling’s thigh. “What do you need?”

“You _know_.”

“Do I?”

“ _April_ ,” Sterling groans again, and then finally, _finally_ April’s mouth is where Sterling wants her. Has wanted her, if she’s being honest, for the last twenty years.

The sound Sterling lets out is one she’s never heard herself make before, as April’s tongue slides along the length of her, exploring what makes Sterling moan and buck her hips. April’s always been a quick study, and apparently that extends to sex, because each time her mouth finds a spot that gets a particular reaction out of Sterling she spends more time there, sucking a little harder or moving her tongue a little faster.

Sterling doesn’t think anything has ever felt so wonderful. She knows she won’t last long, as much as she wants to stave off her orgasm, and she can’t really blame herself; this _has_ been years in the making, and April is ridiculously good at it. She arches into April’s mouth, one hand threading through April’s hair, holding her close (not that she needs to—April seems quite content where she is) and the other gripping the sheets.

Her moans aren’t even words; she’s long past the point of coherence. But as she feels herself start to get close she needs more, so Sterling manages to rasp, “Inside,” and April, ever attentive, slips two fingers inside her as her lips wrap around Sterling’s clit.

Sterling lets out a silent, breathless scream when her orgasm hits her, spine curling up off the bed as sparks of white light flash behind her eyes.

“Holy shit,” Sterling pants once her brain can handle the English language again.

April smiles up at her, head pillowed on Sterling’s stomach. “Worth the wait?” There’s no real uncertainty in her voice, which is honestly warranted. Sterling’s never come so hard in her life.

Sterling lets out a small, joyful laugh. “And then some. That was seriously one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

“Oh really?”

Sterling reaches a hand down to cup April’s cheek. “I’d honestly be annoyed that you’re so good at that, too, if it didn’t benefit me greatly.”

“Glad you have your priorities in order.”

Sterling realizes with delight that sometime in the last few minutes April’s stripped off her own pants and underwear, and she notices April shifting against the mattress, surely aching for her own release. The idea of making April feel as amazing as she just made Sterling feel sends a fresh spark of desire shooting straight through Sterling.

“Come ’ere,” Sterling says, and April doesn’t have to be told twice. She slides up Sterling’s body, kissing her deeply. It isn’t the first time Sterling’s tasted herself on someone else’s tongue, but it’s the first time she’s liked it so much.

Sterling slips a leg between April’s, stomach jumping when she feels April’s wetness against her thigh. A years-long fantasy of feeling April writhe above her reenters Sterling’s mind with a start.

“Do you want…” Sterling murmurs against April’s lips.

“What?” April asks breathily.

Sterling is gripped by a peculiar wave of shyness, which is truly preposterous considering what’s just transpired between them. She pushes past it, asking, “All the way up? On my face?”

April’s eyes grow impossibly wider and she grinds down a little harder on Sterling’s leg. Sterling doesn’t even think she knows she’s doing it, which makes it that much hotter. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Sterling confirms, relishing in the way her suggestion has made April shiver.

“I really feel like we should get Tom a bottle of champagne, or something,” April quips as her knees settle over Sterling’s shoulders.

“Absolutely,” Sterling agrees, though as April lowers herself against Sterling’s mouth, all thoughts of Tom or Ezequiel or literally any other person in the world besides April Stevens are swiftly and gratefully banished from her mind.

\----

It really can’t be overstated how good the sex is.

April quickly realizes that she was absolutely kidding herself to think it would be a one-time thing. Being with Sterling feels like being a starving woman finally granted food. But not just any food; the most decadent, exquisite five-course meal imaginable.

(When she voices this metaphor to Sterling, on a late night when her inhibitions are a little looser than usual, Sterling wrinkles her nose, asking, “And I’m the meal in this scenario?”

“Well, I do enjoy eating you up,” April replies, then proceeds to do just that against the door of Sterling’s hotel room until Sterling’s legs are shaking so bad she can’t stand up.)

They’re not in a relationship, not formally, though April really isn’t even sure what constitutes “formal” right now, since the two of them coming out is completely off the table.

Yes, they spend pretty much all of their time together. Yes, they can have long conversations about everything from Scripture to Shakespeare to the Real Housewives. Yes, they’re falling asleep in each other’s hotel rooms more evenings than not. And yes, April is undeniably happier than she’s been, well, possibly ever.

She doesn’t even really notice it until Ezequiel gives her a weird look one afternoon in the middle of a flight to London. Sterling’s passed out beside her, exhausted, surely, from the many rounds she and April went the night before.

“What?” April asks self-consciously.

“You’re humming. And smiling.”

“I am not,” she argues, hearing the petulance in her own voice.

Ezequiel raises an eyebrow. “Okay, then I must just be imagining things. Nothing to do with your new extra-curricular activities, I’m sure.”

April’s feels herself flush. She and Sterling are trying to be discreet, but she’s well aware that there’s a certain unmistakable energy between two people who are sleeping together, and Ezequiel’s no fool.

“Just be careful,” he cautions.

And they are, truly. Less careful than if April had been able to resist Sterling in the first place, but even her impressive will has limits. April’s never been with someone who knows her the way Sterling does, and it’s absolutely intoxicating.

“How fast do you think you’d come if I called you Madam President during sex?” Sterling asks casually one evening. Before April can respond Sterling adds, “I think we should probably test it out, yeah?”

(The answer? The fastest April’s ever come in her life. So embarrassingly quick that she buries her red face in her pillow, groaning, “Shut up,” as Sterling laughs delightedly.)

And Sterling is so eager for it, too; so fun and adventurous and _into_ it. One afternoon when she’s back in New York for a few days and they’re talking over FaceTime, Sterling holds something up, announcing, “Look what I just got.”

April’s eyes widen. It’s a strap-on.

“Please tell me nobody saw you buying that.”

Sterling shakes her head. “Of course not! I ordered it online.” When April is silent for a second, just taking in the sight of the toy in Sterling’s hand, Sterling adds in a rush, “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to try it. I just thought, well—”

“We’ll try it,” April decides, already imagining the look on Sterling’s face as she pushes into her, the feeling of filling her completely.

Sterling swallows hard. “Cool.”

The opportunity arrives about a week later. They’re back in D.C. for a change, working in April’s office. The rest of the floor has gone home for the night, and just as they’re finishing their snack break Sterling pulls the strap-on out of her bag with an impish smile.

April fucks her on the couch, and two minutes in she has to press her palm against Sterling’s mouth because she honestly worries the security guard two floors down might think someone’s being murdered.

“Okay, _that_ was the hardest I’ve ever come,” Sterling announces a few minutes later, leaning tiredly against April’s shoulder.

April grins, because that’s what Sterling said last week, and the week before, and it’s honestly quite satisfying to keep one-upping herself.

It’s easier to focus on the sex part than the other part, easier to press Sterling against a wall and kiss her breathless than have an actual conversation about what it is they’re doing. April is sure that Sterling would dive in fully to a relationship if April agreed, because, well, it’s _Sterling_ , but for now, Sterling doesn’t push, and April is all too happy with their current arrangement.

Even if she sometimes feels the intense urge to hold Sterling’s hand in public, or an uncomfortable lick of possessiveness when they’re at an event and someone starts flirting with Sterling, assuming she’s single.

Which, technically, she is.

They fly to Paris for a foreign relations event, a big self-congratulatory spectacle that April’s been half-dreading for months. Sterling’s never been to Paris, and her excitement to be there is overwhelmingly sweet, to the point that April has to remind herself not to smile too big when they’re in front of other people.

The event itself is extremely formal. April has a custom sapphire blue gown that she’s been in fittings for for months, and Sterling was able to snag a beautiful jewel-tone dress that makes April go a little speechless when she sees her.

“Cat got your tongue there, Madam Secretary?” Sterling teases, though she’s checking April out as intently as April is staring at her.

“You look beautiful,” April says softly, stomach twisting suddenly at the knowledge that they’ll spend more of this evening apart than together.

“So do you.”

Luckily, April doesn’t have to give a speech tonight, but there’s the usual schmoozing, the coded conversations that not-so-subtly ask for endorsements and support moving forward.

April tries to keep herself in check, focused solely on each individual she’s talking to, but it’s a challenge when Sterling is across the room, gorgeous and sunny, having found a group of other staffers to talk with.

April is just thinking she might be able to sneak away with Sterling for a few minutes when a familiar voice says, “Why, hello there.”

Daniel Hobart stands beside her, looking supremely pleased with himself. “Fancy meeting you here.”

April smiles tightly. “Good to see you, Daniel. How’s the Great White North treating you?”

“Can’t complain.”

April nods. She can never quite get a read on Daniel, isn’t sure whether he interprets their interactions as genuine or knows he’s being used for the cameras. He’s never made a legitimate move on her, thank God, but he always seems a little too happy to spend time together.

Maybe, she thinks ruefully, he’s closeted as well.

“Y’know, we could really give everyone a show,” Daniel muses.

“What do you mean?”

Daniel gestures toward the dance floor, which has been mostly empty this entire evening. “A dance between you and I would produce some great pictures.”

April glances over at Sterling, still absorbed in conversation. She thinks about Ezequiel’s warning to be careful, about the likelihood that the Capitol Hill gossip blogs are already figuring out why April is suddenly in a good mood all the time, why her speechwriter seems to be the new MVP of her staff.

She doesn’t think anyone knows, but she can’t really be sure. That lack of control and buzz of paranoia is sickeningly familiar, harkening back to her teen years, the thudding realization that she couldn’t be with Sterling as long as her father was home.

April is an adult woman, now; the risk of being kicked out or disowned no longer exists. But this new risk is even greater. She can’t forget that.

“Okay,” she agrees. “I’ll dance with you.”

Daniel nods, taking her hand and leading her onto the dance floor. This, too, feels stunningly teenager-y: dancing with a man while the true object of her affection hovers nearby. It makes April belatedly grateful that she didn’t attend her senior prom.

The song playing is a lot slower and more romantic than she would like, prompting Daniel to pull her in close. His hands are respectful, but April still wants to push him away, wants to run across the room to Sterling.

Sterling, who suddenly looks up at her in surprise, mouth slightly agape, before quickly tightening her jaw and resuming her conversation. April stares at her the entire time, dimly aware of Daniel leading her around the dance floor. _I wish this was you and me_ , she thinks, hoping in some weird sort of way that the thought can be beamed into Sterling’s brain.

When the song mercifully ends, April offers Daniel a quick thank you before heading straight for Sterling. “Come with me, please,” she says quietly, then, loud enough for others to hear, “I have a question about tomorrow’s speech.”

Sterling doesn’t say anything but she follows April without question. They manage to find a little office a few rooms away from the main event, and April locks the door behind them.

There’s fondness in Sterling’s eyes, but a hardness, too, like she’s bracing herself for impact.

“I’m sorry,” April murmurs.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

April rolls her lips together. Sterling is right, but that doesn’t lessen the ache in April’s chest. “I wouldn’t have liked to see that, if I were you.”

“Luckily I’m a much more generous person than you are,” Sterling jokes.

April looks into her eyes, wondering how she got so lucky to have Sterling Wesley here with her after so many years apart; wondering how she can be so extraordinary selfish to want her and want the presidency, to not be willing to sacrifice either.

Sterling deserves so much more.

April doesn’t verbalize that thought, instead asking Sterling, “Can I have your phone?”

Sterling frowns but unlocks her phone and hands it over. April presses a few buttons, smiling as “Slow Burn” starts to drift out of the speakers.

“Dance with me?”

Sterling bites her lip, looking suddenly so shy and young that April really does feel like they’re at prom. She pulls April toward her, looping her arms around April’s low back while April cups the back of her neck. They fit together so well, April recognizes.

“I’ve never been able to listen to this song without thinking about you,” Sterling whispers as they move with each other.

“Me neither.”

“Blair and I went to a Kacey Musgraves concert a couple of years ago and I started full-on sobbing when she played this.”

April laughs a little, because it feels better than crying, and sways with Sterling to the familiar song. She holds Sterling as tightly as their fancy dresses will allow, praying from the deepest part of herself that for now, this can be enough.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry in advance.

After they return from Paris, Sterling is granted a few days off to head back to New York. While being away from April makes her sad (sadder than it probably should, considering), Sterling looks forward to a little time back in her own space, the opportunity to sleep in her own bed and refresh her travel wardrobe and sort through her mail.

And, of course, being home means she gets to see Blair and Addison, which has become a much rarer and more precious occasion than it was a few months ago. Addison runs into Sterling’s arms when she arrives at their apartment, beating Blair by a couple of inches, but then Blair joins in too and Sterling is being crushed in the most enthusiastic hug she can imagine.

Addison perches on Sterling’s lap, breathlessly filling her aunt in on the details of everything that’s happened while she’s been away. Her eyes get enormous when Sterling produces the Eiffel Tower necklace she brought home from Paris, and she throws her arms around Sterling’s neck with an exuberant, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“My efforts to turn her into a tomboy are so far backfiring,” Blair remarks with a grin. “She wants a _My Little Pony_ birthday. _My Little Pony_! I didn’t think that was a thing anymore outside of some very dark corners of the internet.”

“Can I watch a ep-a-sode, Mama?” Addison begs. Sterling laughs, noting how well her niece has perfected puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, just one,” Blair agrees, as Addison skips happily toward the TV.

Sterling watches Blair get Addison settled with her show, marveling at the instinctual way Blair reminds Addy to use the bathroom first; the fact that she doesn’t even have to stop and consider which stuffed animal the girl will want at her side. Sterling might not have predicted it (no one could have), but being Addison’s mom seems as natural a fit for Blair now as bounty hunting was for her as a teen.

Once Addy is tucked in on the couch with the appropriate stuffie and _My Little Pony_ episode combination, Blair rejoins Sterling at the kitchen table, scooting her chair in a bit closer.

“Sooo,” Blair drawls. “Did y’all wear disguises and do it on top of the Eiffel Tower?”

“ _Blair_! Of course not!”

Blair scowls. “What a waste. Please tell me you’ve at least joined the Mile High Club.”

Sterling smacks her arm lightly. “No, it would be way too easy to get caught. Plus—gross. Airplane bathrooms are the opposite of sexy.”

“Don’t knock it till you try it.”

“Seriously?! When?”

Blair smirks. “Spring break, sophomore year. Carly Biggs.”

“Oh.” Sterling nods, remembering the girl in question. “She was cute.”

“She most certainly was.” Blair shifts her coffee cup, a more solemn expression gracing her features. “So, seriously: how are things?”

“Good!” Sterling replies, a bit too chipper. “Y’know, the traveling is a lot, but it’s been fun, and the campaign is poised to—”

“Sterl. C’mon. I’m not asking about the campaign. Are you handling the April stuff okay?”

Sterling takes a deep breath. Blair wasn’t exactly surprised when Sterling told her a month or so back about her new situation with April—in fact, Blair’s exact words were, “About damn time, I feel like we should throw a party for your puss”—but there’s been a slight edge to her the last few times they’ve discussed it. Not disapproval, exactly, but concern.

“Well, the sex is fantastic, as always,” Sterling says.

“Rad.”

“And, um.” Sterling traces her finger against the wood table, choosing to focus on that action rather than Blair’s eyes. “I really love spending time with her. Like, the job is hard and demanding, and I’m _good_ at it, but mostly I feel like—like I’m just really good with her. We’re good together.”

Her eyes are still down, but it’s impossible to lie to Blair, it always has been. “And it’s just—it’s hard when I think about what I really want with her. To hold her hand in public or spend all day in bed, or, I don’t know, go on a trip just the two of us. But we could never have that.”

“You _could_ have that,” Blair says quietly. “If she decided not to run.”

Sterling glances up at her sister sharply. “It’s her lifelong dream. She’d never choose me over being President.”

“Then she’s an idiot.”

“Hey,” Sterling whispers warningly, because she really doesn’t want to get into a battle about this.

Blair holds up a defensive hand. “Sorry, I just can’t vibe with anyone who would willingly give you up.”

Sterling shakes her head. “Well, I’d never ask her to do it, anyway. Even if she did, she’d resent me forever. And that’s no kind of life for either of us.”

Blair is silent for a second, just watching Sterling, before saying, “You have real feelings for her.”

“Not sure they ever totally disappeared. Haven’t you been accusing me of that for, like, ever?”

“Well, yeah, but I thought it was just a ‘one that got away’ situation, and you guys would bang it out and then you’d move on. But these aren’t just dusty old teenage feelings, are they?” Blair’s look is knowing but her voice is gentle. “You’re legit falling for her?”

Sterling’s stomach drops, the way it always does when Blair calls her out on something she’s been trying to conceal. It’s a feeling that goes back to childhood, to the one time Sterling stole an extra cookie from the box and Blair somehow knew just by looking at her. Sterling’s belly had twisted with guilt, with the discomfort of her secret being _known_ like that, against her will.

Now, a similar sensation rises in her, but more intensely, finally settling in her chest. It’s the truth she’s been trying to push away for months, the one that she’s mentally repackaged as lust these last few weeks because that’s easier and more fun to deal with than something as complicated as this.

“Yeah,” she says softly, eyes pricking with sudden tears. “Yeah, I think so.”

Blair clasps her hand. “This is gonna be hard, Sterl.”

And Blair is right, of course she’s right, but Sterling can’t bring herself to confirm that, too. So instead she holds Blair’s hand and listens to the bright, high voices drifting from Addison’s show, grateful for a moment to succumb to the smaller, simpler sounds of childhood.

The pictures come out about a week later.

The night starts like most recent ones, which is to say, well. They’re in Berlin for a meeting with the Chancellor of Germany, and though technically Sterling has her own hotel room, both she and April know that’s basically a formality, at this point.

They take separate showers in April’s suite when they arrive since they both have their reasons for not liking shower sex (Sterling: because it wastes water, and April: because she thinks that Sterling might fall and break a hip), and when Sterling comes out of the bathroom, she just has to lean against the doorframe and stare for a few minutes.

April is stretched out on the bed in nothing but black underwear and one of Sterling’s old Columbia T-shirts. Her hair is in a haphazard knot on top of her head, still wet and uncombed, and she’s wearing her glasses, a sight which inexplicably does things to Sterling. April’s looking over a pile of paperwork—some important briefing that Sterling doesn’t totally understand—and Sterling knows she’s displeased by the way her pen keeps tapping against the paper with increasing aggression. Well, that, and by the frustrated little noises that are coming from between her gritted teeth, noises that tug low in Sterling’s gut.

“You’re leering,” April notes, not looking up.

“I prefer admiring, it’s a lot less creepy, but yep.” Sterling grins, pleased to not have to hide her hungry looks anymore.

“What turns you on most?” April exaggeratedly stretches her legs out further, pointing and flexing her toes, eyes staying focused on the task at hand. “My legs, my glasses, or my dedication to reading through this inane briefing when I could be fucking your brains out?”

“Clearly, it’s your humility.”

“Humility is highly overrated.”

Sterling can’t help but laugh as she steps away from the doorframe, situating herself near the edge of the bed with her knees between April’s legs. “Actually, my answer was D: all of the above. Though I wonder if we could press pause on all that dedication and get to the fucking my brains out part.”

“Predictable.”

April finally sets her papers aside, and Sterling grasps the back of her legs, tugging her down the length of the bed until their hips almost meet and Sterling can easily straddle her.

April’s eyes light up at the sudden action as she props herself back on her forearms.

“Who’re you calling predictable?” Sterling asks when she’s hovering over April.

“You’re distracting me,” April whispers back, even as her body arches up toward Sterling’s.

Sterling nods, gently gripping April’s jaw. “Yeah, you seem real torn up about it, too.” She tips April’s jaw back before lowering her mouth to April’s neck, delighting in the sharp intake of breath that April lets out when Sterling presses open-mouthed kisses to the smooth skin of her throat.

Sterling doesn’t know how long her lips have been on April’s neck—it’s pretty easy to lose track of time in these moments—when their personal phones start buzzing from the nightstand in unison.

“Maybe Ezequiel’s ordering dinner?” Sterling suggests hopefully. “We could just ignore it?”

But April’s already reaching for their phones, handing Sterling’s over before she checks her own screen. April’s always been a slightly faster reader, so she processes the message first, eyes darting up to lock onto Sterling’s with alarm.

The message is from Ezequiel. But it has nothing to do with dinner.

Apparently, a Capitol Hill blogger has compiled a few pictures of April and Sterling out and about in recent weeks. There are photos of them standing side-by-side during a musical performance at a pro-choice rally, seated next to each other in the front row of _Hamilton_ , laughing together at the event in Paris.

The pictures could all be read as innocuous; there’s nothing particularly damning about any of them. Sure, the two of them look joyful, and their bodies are close together. Sterling can see the intimacy between them because she knows it’s there, but anyone could look at a single one of the pictures and read it as a politician and a member of her staff merely engaged in the content of the events they’re attending.

It’s the way that the pictures are spliced together, combined with the caption—“ _Secretary of State (and rumored Presidential hopeful) April Stevens cuts loose with speechwriter Sterling Wesley. The normally private Secretary seems to be enjoying some quality time with gal pal Wesley, a former classmate.”_ —that makes her skin prickle.

Ezequiel joins them in April’s hotel room, and the three of them stare at their phones for several long minutes.

“Gal pals,” Sterling finally mutters, just to break the silence. “I think the most offensive part is that so-called reporters are still using that expression.”

“It’s coded language,” April snaps.

“Oh believe me, I know,” Sterling replies, undeterred by the sharpness in April’s tone. “It’s a way of outing you without outing you, but it somehow feels more homophobic than them just straight-up calling us lesbians.”

Ezequiel glances at April. “What do you wanna do?”

“What happens if we ignore it?” April asks.

He tilts his head to the side, considering. “Nothing, at first. Until the far right gets wind of the story and makes it the new cornerstone of their campaign against you. They decide to run with ‘she’s a secret lesbian,’ because, let’s be real, it’s basically your only perceived weakness. They dive deep into your history, contact old roommates and coworkers, and eventually they get to your ex-girlfriends. Someone is offered a shitload of money to give a damning interview, and all the while the rightwing idiots will claim that this is just about upholding integrity, or whatever, when their platform is essentially barely-veiled homophobia. You get painted as a fraud. Your refusal to address the issue is seen as confirmation. You don’t even earn the nomination.” He lets out a tight exhale. “And don’t even get me started on what happens if they get ahold of your father.”

Sterling blinks. She could throw up. “And if we flat-out deny it?”

“We’re not denying it,” April says firmly.

“But…but you’re not coming out, right?” Sterling asks, trying to keep any hint of hope out of her voice.

Ezequiel and April share a long look. If Sterling didn’t know better, she’d think they were talking in their own version of twin vision.

“No,” April answers, not meeting Sterling’s eyes.

Sterling nods, refusing to let herself cry over this, at least right now. “Okay. So where does that leave us?”

“You could give an interview,” Ezequiel offers. “Not one that flat-out denies that you’re gay, but one that references your personal life enough to…imply certain things.”

“Certain things?” April echoes.

“We have the interviewer slip in a reference to Hobart. You do the whole demure non-answer thing,” he continues. “And when the pictures come up, you laugh them off. Play it all down as you and Sterling rekindling your friendship.”

“Our friendship,” Sterling repeats, the word tasting like bile in her mouth. Twenty years ago she would have loved someone referring to her as April’s friend, but now it feels like the wind’s been knocked out of her.

“Sterling—” April starts.

“Ezequiel’s right,” Sterling says quietly. “This is the best course of action.” She forces a smile when she looks at April. “I’ll help you prepare your answers.”

“You don’t—”

“Of course I do.” Sterling straightens her posture. “It’s my job.”

\----

The interview is conducted at April’s office and is marketed as a “the woman behind the curtain” type segment, an opportunity for April to come across as personable and charming rather than the professional ice queen she knows most of the country views her as. Less so, though, since Sterling’s been on the team.

April thinks there’s a certain irony to all of this: the fact that Sterling was hired for the precise reason of making April seem more relatable, and their relationship is what has pushed April into an interview packaging her as just that.

Katie Couric is chosen as the interviewer, because, in Ezequiel’s words, “She’s old and white and America trusts her.” April leads her through her offices while they talk about foreign policy, April’s track record as a prosecutor, the few details of her upbringing that can be recited as easy soundbites.

Eventually, they settle down on April’s couch (the couch, she recognizes with a twist in her gut, where she and Sterling had mind-blowing sex just a few weeks ago), and Katie asks, “So what about romance? Anyone special in your life?”

April flashes a practiced, knowing smile, the kind that implies she might have a few secrets but none worthy of scandal. “I’m blessed with many special people in my life, Katie.”

Katie leans in a little closer. “But after a long day here at your office, or a long week traveling the world, who do you get to come home to? Who takes care of the woman who takes care of so much?”

April swallows, presses her lips tighter together. The question is far from a “gotcha”; this whole interview has been rehearsed practically down to the last blink. Last night, in fact, Sterling went over all of April’s answers with her once again, and April felt like such a coward but she couldn’t even look Sterling in the eyes when she delivered this particular answer.

After their practice session, they had slow, tender sex in April’s bed, April attempting to inject all the words she couldn’t say into every kiss and caress.

“The truth is,” April begins, “that I’ve gotten very good at taking care of myself. I like being on my own. I know it might not be conventional, but I don’t believe that every person needs a partner to have a full life.”

“Sure, but does that mean romance is entirely off the table? You’re a young, attractive woman. Whip-smart, obviously. I bet men are throwing themselves at you all the time.”

April nods modestly. “I wouldn’t say all the time. But I do get the occasional offer.”

Katie grins. “Canada’s Prime Minster Daniel Hobart, for example?”

April raises a manicured eyebrow. “He’s a very charming man.”

“I’ll say. And you two look good together.”

“Oh, thank you. It’s hard not to look good standing next to him. But honestly, my life is very full as it is. It’s hard for me to imagine fitting another person into it, right now.”

April can feel Sterling’s gaze on her, just off camera. They debated having Sterling skip the interview before realizing that would likely raise more suspicions.

There’s a part of April that yearns to turn her head to the side, to grab Sterling’s hand and pull her onto the couch, announcing to Sterling and Katie and the whole world that everything she’s just said is a lie, that Sterling matters more to her than just about anyone, that she’s never gotten over her and doesn’t think she ever will.

Instead, April smiles back at Katie and finishes the interview. When the Sterling pictures come up, April mentions the importance of female friendships before swiftly moving on.

She stays on script the entire time.

Hours later, after the camera crew has packed up and Katie has declared that she’s pulling for April, after Ezequiel has filed out with a tight, “Great job, boss,” it’s finally just her and Sterling, again. Sterling’s been virtually silent since the interview ended, an uncharacteristic and uncomfortable quality to witness.

“Well,” April says, flopping back down on the couch. “That sure sucked, didn’t it?”

Sterling laughs a little, but it sounds hollow. “It wasn’t my favorite day.”

“Mine neither.”

Sterling’s been leaning against the desk—ever since the pictures came out, she’s kept more physical distance from April, even when it’s just the two of them, which April finds unbearable—but when April waves a hand over Sterling sits down beside her.

“I’m sorry,” April whispers.

“You don’t—”

“No, I do,” April argues. “If I was a better person, it wouldn’t be like this.”

Sterling looks up at her timidly. “What would it be like?”

“Well, I’d give it all up for you.” Sterling’s eyes widen but April pushes on, unable to tolerate more dishonesty today. “I’d finish out the term as Secretary and then I wouldn’t run. I’d come out, and we could be together. Maybe I’d stay in politics, as a Senator or something, and we’d be happy.”

Sterling wipes her eyes before threading her fingers through April’s. April almost sighs into the contact, even as her own eyes prick with tears.

“You wouldn’t be happy,” Sterling says softly. “And sacrificing what you want wouldn’t make you a better person.”

“You’re what I want.”

“Not everything you want. And if you gave up the Presidency for me, you wouldn’t be the woman I—” She cuts herself off, swallowing hard. “You wouldn’t be you.”

April wipes fiercely at the tears running down her face. Sterling is right, because Sterling knows her from the inside out. Sterling has always understood things about April that April herself can’t see, appreciating the parts of April that someone else might call bad or wrong.

“We could make it work,” April murmurs. “Once the campaign is over…”

“You, what, go ‘surprise, I’m a lesbian!’ on Inauguration Day? And then you’re called a liar, and there goes any chance of reelection.”

“We could sneak around—”

“That wouldn’t work.” Sterling squeezes her hand. “And even if it somehow did, I don’t know if I could do it. If I could be, y’know…”

“A secret?” Sterling nods in response, and April feels fresh, hot tears spill against her cheeks. “You deserve more than that. More than—”

“Hey,” Sterling cuts in firmly. “Don’t finish that sentence. This isn’t about—you are not a bad person, okay? Not at all. The world is a fucked up, complicated place, and you’re in an incredibly hard position. I can’t blame you for not choosing me. But I…”

“You can’t stay,” April recognizes. “You can’t spend your whole life dancing with me behind a locked door.” When Sterling doesn’t say anything, just keeps rubbing her thumb along April’s palm, April adds, “I can’t blame you for that, either.”

She wants to tell Sterling that she loves her, even if it’s a thought that she’s barely acknowledged to herself. But April knows it’ll make things worse. It’s hard not to think about the last time they were in this position, sitting on a bench with tears running down their faces, April naively clinging to the prospect of a “maybe someday.”

A part of her really had believed, back then, that they _would_ get their maybe someday. And they have, of course they have; this time together has meant more to April than she can put into words. But she never could have imagined it would end like this.

“You can stay on as speechwriter,” she offers, which feels entirely insignificant right now but is the one thing she can give to Sterling.

Sterling’s half smile is possibly the saddest thing April’s ever seen. “No, that wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

“Of course.” April blinks a few times, trying to quell the rising panic in her chest, the knowledge that this might be the last time she ever sees Sterling. “Can we just stay here for a bit?”

“I’d love to,” Sterling replies, wrapping an arm around April’s shoulders.

April lets herself relax into the touch, head pressed against Sterling’s shoulder, and there they stay until the sun slips below the horizon and is replaced by darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

After spending the last few months traveling the globe, Georgia seems smaller than ever. Sterling thought her hometown seemed tiny after a few years as a journalist, but after months on April’s team even flying coach feels bizarre, a fact which makes Sterling feel more than a little gross.

There’s nothing quite like the comfort of her parents picking her up from the airport. It makes Sterling think about coming home for summer break during college, her dad immediately handling all of her luggage while her mom hooked an arm through Sterling’s, asking about a million questions in the span of five minutes. Sometimes Blair would be with them, too, and she and Sterling would cling to one another the entire car ride home. The knowledge that she had a full summer ahead free of tests and roommates and the awkwardness of seeing various exes around campus never failed to fill Sterling with joy, even though she adored college.

Now, Sterling tries very hard not to fall apart as her mom hugs her, because she is a grown-up who’s made a mature life choice, not a nineteen-year-old who was just dumped over spring break.

But it’s a losing battle. The second Debbie’s arms wrap around Sterling’s body, Sterling starts shuddering with sobs, clutching her mom with what she’s sure is an alarming amount of intensity.

“Baby,” Debbie murmurs, voice thick with concern. “Hey, what’s going on? I thought the job just didn’t work out?”

Sterling nods against her mom’s neck, because she’s certainly not about to out April, not after everything. She pulls back enough so she can look at her parents, seeing two sets of worried eyes blinking back at her. Anderson takes a tentative step forward before pressing a hand to Sterling’s back, rubbing gentle circles between her shoulder blades, the exact way he used to comfort her after a bad dream.

God, Sterling wishes she could wake up from this.

“It was just…very overwhelming,” she says soggily.

“Honey, are you pregnant?” her dad asks.

“ _Anderson_ ,” her mom chastises.

“What? It’s a valid question. We remember what Blair was like back then, all that crying.”

“But now is not the time,” Debbie says, gesturing at a still-blubbering Sterling. She turns back to her daughter. “You aren’t, are you?”

Sterling shakes her head, noticing the way her parents each seem to exhale in relief. She’s sure they’d love more grandchildren, but preferably not ones born out of wedlock.

“It’s been an emotional few months,” Sterling manages.

Her parents exchange a look, clearly not satisfied with the answer, but Debbie nods. “Alright. Well, let’s get you home.”

Home isn’t the place Sterling grew up in anymore; her parents downsized after she and Blair graduated college, wanting a house where they could grow old and which would require less upkeep. Their single-story home is in the same zip code as their previous house, and though it’s less familiar to Sterling she likes the coziness of it.

Sterling gets herself situated in the guest suite, unpacking a few items and splashing water on her face in the bathroom, trying to make her appearance less alarming. When she’s marginally more put-together looking, she goes to join her parents for lunch, but she pauses in the doorway of the kitchen, observing them for a few minutes.

Debbie and Anderson are approaching their mid-sixties, but they both wear their age well. Debbie’s gotten a few nips and tucks here and there, nothing too extreme, and if Sterling didn’t know any better she’d think her mom wasn’t a day over forty-five. Her dad’s hair has receded a bit, and it’s more salt and pepper around the temples, but he hasn’t lost the playful glint in his eye.

Sterling wonders if it’s their marriage that’s kept them young. In the aftermath of Dana’s big reveal all those years ago, each member of the Wesley family attended hours of therapy, both as a family and individually. It was at Sterling and Blair’s insistence, and though their parents initially protested joining in Sterling knows they’re glad they did. The road back to feeling like a family wasn’t always smooth-sailing, and even now Sterling’s heart sometimes squeezes tight with a wave of grief for the life she once believed was hers. But it’s been years since she felt true anger about the situation, and the lack of secrecy with her parents has improved their relationship greatly in recent years.

Now, she watches as they move together in the kitchen, a dance so ingrained they don’t even have to consider the steps. Sterling’s wondered over the years whether she might ever have that with somebody, the kind of intimacy that feels almost second nature. Not only with Blair, but with a romantic partner, too.

In this moment she can’t help but think of April, of how easy it was just to be with her, when no one else was around; how rare it was to feel that all-consuming combination of comfort and excitement.

“You okay, sweetie?” her dad calls out.

Sterling nods, trying to shake the sensation off, but it settles like a stone in her belly for the rest of the night.

Much to her parents’ befuddlement, Sterling doesn’t have a definite reason or plan regarding this trip back home. All she knew in the aftermath of losing both her non-relationship relationship and her job was that she needed to get away, and visiting her parents seemed like the obvious choice. She thought being back in Georgia would feel like an escape, a brief return to a simpler time, an opportunity to be taken care of for a short while. And in a way it is, but Sterling didn’t consider something important: everything reminds her of April.

Sterling goes for a run on a warm morning and remembers the way April’s hair used to react to the humidity. She sees a group of teens walking with to-go cups from Chick-fil-A and thinks of how frequently she and April happened to both end up in that parking lot at the same time. She goes to church with her parents (Pastor Booth has retired, but the Wesleys are still beloved members of the congregation) and sneaks a peak at the Stevens’ pew, half-expecting to see April standing primly while singing along to the hymnals with perfect pitch.

At first Sterling tries to suppress the way the memories make her feel—which is to say, like her heart is being ripped from her chest—before recognizing that she just needs to let herself be sad. So she leans into the emotions, driving around in one of her parents’ cars with “Slow Burn” and “drivers license” playing on a back-to-back loop, pulling over and full-on sobbing when the latter song hits the bridge.

It’s a tad dramatic, but Sterling even drives past the old Stevens’ house. Mrs. Stevens moved to a different part of the state years ago, but Sterling still allows herself to engage in a brief fantasy of April tapping on her window with a lopsided smile, fondly asking, “What’re you doing here, stranger?”

One day Sterling gets up the nerve to drive to Willingham. She drives by it most times she comes home, offering a quick salute for old time’s sake, but she hasn’t actually been on campus since about five years ago, when Ellen—the principal for the last decade—invited her to speak at graduation.

“Don't you want someone more impressive?” Sterling had asked at the time, her mind unwittingly drifting to April.

“You’re plenty impressive!” Ellen had assured her. “You’re out there in the world, doing your thing. I’m so proud of you.”

How could Sterling say no to that?

Willingham was remodeled a few years back, but it basically looks the same from the outside. It seems smaller to Sterling now, though; in her memory, the building was huge and hulking. It’s a Saturday, so the parking lot is empty. Sterling parks near the middle of the lot, letting her music continue to play as she stares out at the school.

The nostalgia hits her like a tidal wave. God, she was so _young_ back then. There was still so much for her to discover about herself, so much growing left to do. She had been certain of how her life would turn out, then in a matter of weeks, days, minutes that certainty had been completely undone, replaced by the terrifying and exhilarating possibility that truly anything could happen.

She and Luke could break up.

She could have her first orgasm while thinking about April Stevens grabbing her arm.

She could want to kiss April with a degree of longing that she’d never felt before.

And April could want to kiss her back.

And, of course, there were the other possibilities, too, the less fun ones. April could break her heart, and Sterling could get kidnapped, and her whole life could turn out to be a lie.

A tap at her window startles Sterling out of her momentary reflection. “Excuse me, ma’am,” a voice calls through the glass. “You can’t—Sterling Wesley?!”

Sterling rolls down her window, coming face-to-face with Ellen. She’s older, and her hair is shorter, but she has the same unmistakable smile that immediately puts Sterling at ease. Her smile quickly fades, though, when she takes in Sterling’s appearance.

Oh right, Sterling realizes. She’s basically been crying nonstop for the last two weeks. And tears are still actively running down her face, even now.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Ellen chirps, as her eyebrows knit together. “Though I’m gathering not all is well?”

“Um, yes, sorry,” Sterling stammers, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. She moves to open the car door, because that seems like the thing a normal adult person not having a breakdown would do—actually stand up and properly greet their old teacher—but Ellen gently presses her palm against the door.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

“You don’t have to—” Sterling starts, but Ellen is already coming around to the passenger’s side.

“Would you like a hug, Sterling?” Ellen asks once she’s seated. “You look like maybe you could use one.”

Sterling nods, even though she feels silly and weird and more than a little creepy to be crying uncontrollably in her old school parking lot. Ellen hugs her over the center console, and it’s a bit awkward, to be sure, but Sterling is grateful for the support.

“What’re you doing here?” Ellen asks gently once they pull apart.

“Here in Georgia or here at Willingham?”

“Either. Both.”

Sterling twists her fingers together. “I sort of had a bad…breakup, I guess you could say, and I also had to leave a job I really liked. And I’m just kind of, um, not handling any of it very well.”

“That’s a lot to go through all at once,” Ellen acknowledges. “So I take it things didn’t work out with April?”

Sterling’s eyes dart up in alarm. How could Ellen possibly know about the two of them?

“You were working as her speechwriter, right?” Ellen continues, and Sterling relaxes slightly.

Ellen smiles. “I keep up with my students.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Especially my favorites.”

Something in Sterling’s heart clenches at that. “It just didn’t pan out.”

“You and April always were two sides of the same coin. Stuck together but never seeing eye-to-eye.”

Sterling snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”

“But you were good together, too. I always believed that.”

“I did, too,” Sterling says softly, fighting off another round of tears.

Ellen sighs. “Losing a job and a relationship at the same time is so hard. Lord knows I’ve been through my share of breakups.”

Sterling tilts her head to the side. Ellen has always been so dedicated to Willingham that Sterling never really considered her love life. Now, though, she finds herself curious. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Go for it.”

“Did you ever, um, have someone who you thought might be it for you?”

Ellen’s smile is wistful. “Sure, a couple of those people.”

“But it didn’t work out?”

“Not how I expected. I don’t regret those relationships for a minute, though. Each one taught me something new.”

Sterling swallows the lump in her throat. “I’m honestly not sure what I’m learning right now other than that this feeling sucks.”

“Oh hon, I know.”

“I don’t…” Sterling sniffs. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault, which just makes it hurt more, somehow.”

“Sometimes that’s how it goes. And in that case, I suppose you learn to let go.” Ellen squeezes her knee. “Maybe, Sterling, that’s exactly where the love is. In the letting go.”

\----

In the lead-up to her campaign announcement, April finds herself settling into a new routine.

She secures donors, she interviews staffers, she tries not to think about Sterling.

She flies to Guatemala, she flies to Perth, she tries not to think about Sterling.

She gets the private endorsement of the President, she hires a new speechwriter, she tries not to think about Sterling.

By the time the announcement is days away, April is exhausted. The combination of preparing to run for President and doing her job as Secretary is tiring enough, but so much of her mental energy is being used up by actively avoiding focusing on Sterling. Because she knows if she does, she’ll fall apart, and she might never recover.

Gone is the smiling, humming, happy April of a couple months ago. In her place is the most shrewd, determined, and—yes—mean version of April, the one that she sickeningly recognizes would make her dad proud, were it not for her leftist politics. She reasons that this is what’s required of her, now, and certainly if she gave up a relationship with Sterling, she better not waste this opportunity.

Ezequiel is concerned, she can tell, but he’s stopped asking if she’s okay because April’s stopped telling him the truth. Instead, he’s been giving her more leeway. Not calling her out when she’s being an absolute bitch to him, making sure that her hotel rooms are always stocked with her favorite junk food, taking certain insignificant decisions off her plate.

She lets herself cry only in very particular moments, when she can rationalize the tears as being exhaustion or hunger related. Those tears make sense and can be explained away.

And April is fine. She’s better than fine. She’s going to be President.

Never mind the fact that she can’t watch a single reality show anymore because her brain immediately starts generating Sterling’s commentary, or that she’s had to delete every Kacey Musgraves song from her phone, or that she leaves a community church service early one day when Naomi and Ruth are brought up.

She gives a few more interviews, plastering on the demure charm until the interviewers are eating out of the palm of her hands. She develops a reputation as witty and a little coy, and the news media seems to like that persona.

April avoids Daniel Hobart. Every time she sees him she feels sick, thinking about Sterling’s jealousy the night they met, the way her face fell from across the dance floor. Even if Daniel is somehow her ticket to the presidency April can’t use him anymore. She still has some standards.

About a week before the campaign announcement April is asked to join a panel of other high-ranking women in government. One of her fellow panelists is Emma Raymond, an out lesbian senator and a rising star in the Democratic Party.

A girl not much older than April was the first time she kissed Sterling approaches the microphone, nervously asking Emma why she decided to come out publicly.

April tries not to lean in too close as she awaits the response. Emma smiles widely before answering, “It was simple: I felt like I owed it to myself, and to my community. Coming out is an incredibly personal decision, and you’re the only one who can make that for yourself. But at the end of the day, I didn’t want to hide myself anymore.”

April is the first person off the stage, and she’s practically hyperventilating by the time she gets into her town car.

“Take some deep breaths,” Ezequiel tells her, clearly seeing that April’s on the verge of a panic attack.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” April whispers when she can breathe again.

“Nothing, honey. Nothing’s wrong with you.”

April wishes she believed him.

For a variety of scheduling reasons, her team decides that the campaign announcement will happen in New York. April tries not to think about her proximity to Sterling, but it’s a losing battle.

The night before the announcement, April sits in her hotel room, practicing her speech over and over again. Her new speechwriter is smart and funny, with a distinct voice that’s a good match for April, but she isn’t Sterling, and a twisted part of April wonders what Sterling’s version of the speech would sound like.

After her third run-through, April collapses onto her couch. Ezequiel arrives soon after, toting salads and Diet Coke, and April is so exhausted and overwhelmed that she hardly acknowledges his presence.

“You’re moping,” he notes as he sets the food down in front of her. “Presidents don’t mope.”

“Good thing I’m not President, then.”

“That’s the spirit.”

They eat in relative silence. April’s felt the anxiety rising in her all day, heavy inside her chest.

She’s on the precipice of this dream, but nothing is set in stone yet. She could still change her mind, could still cut and run. Her mind swirls with the possibilities, her conflicting desires. Her head knows the right thing to do, the proper, well-thought out plan, while her heart just seems to thud _Sterling, Sterling, Sterling_ over and over again until April can hardly breathe.

After they finish eating, Ezequiel leans back against the chair opposite April, regarding her squarely. “Out with it.”

“What?”

“There’s so much going on inside that brain of yours, I can practically hear it. What are you thinking about?”

April shakes her head. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Not buying that for a second. C’mon, what is it? Need me to load up the getaway car?”

April laughs and so does he, but she knows deep down that he’d do it, if she asked him to.

And then the laughter dissipates and April is left with the heavy feeling again. She takes a deep breath, then before she can second-guess herself further, asks, “If I give up my chance at becoming President for Sterling, what kind of person does that make me?”

Ezequiel, to his credit, doesn’t look surprised in the least. “Do you want me to answer as your campaign manager, or as your friend?”

It’s the first time he’s referred to himself as her friend in ages, but April doesn’t dwell on that, replying, “My campaign manager,” because that’s the correct answer.

Ezequiel sighs. “Okay. If you give up your chance to become President because of Sterling, that makes you an idiot. You’ve worked tirelessly to get here. It’s been your dream since you were a child. You have the opportunity to do some truly amazing things, not just for yourself, but for the world, and at the rate you’re going, you most likely will get the nomination and win. It would be unforgivably foolish of you to give all of that up for a chance at love with a woman who just breezed back into your life after eighteen years away.”

April’s throat feels tight but she nods. Everything he says is absolutely true. It’s a good reminder, she decides. An important reality check that she needed to hear. “Right. Yeah, good points all around.”

Ezequiel is silent for a long moment, just watching her, before he leans forward and says in a softer voice, “April, do you want to hear what I’d say as your friend?”

She hesitates, then nods. “For argument’s sake.”

“As your friend, I would say that you’ve been in love with Sterling for well over half your life. And your love for her, for better or for worse, hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s gotten stronger. I have never seen you as happy as you are when you’re with her. For your success to mean anything, you have to have some joy alongside it. And it would be unforgivably tragic for you to give up a second chance to be with the person you adore, and who I know adores you back.”

Fat, messy tears are streaming down April’s face, now, and she doesn’t even bother wiping them away. Instead she asks the question that’s plagued her thoughts, the one that up until now has been far too terrifying to verbalize: “What if I come out and it doesn’t make a difference? If she doesn’t take me back or…or we break up, and then I’ve lost everything?”

Ezequiel shrugs, open and earnest. “What if you don’t take that risk, and you spend the rest of your life wondering what would have happened if you did? Or what if you give up on her and you still don’t win?”

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly gathering his thoughts. “Look, nobody knows better than me that coming out is, like, one of the most personal choices in a gay person’s life. I’d never tell anyone that they have to come out, no matter the reason, so if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. If you never come out publicly, that’s entirely up to you.”

“I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

“It could be really fucking incredible.” Ezequiel’s smile starts at the corner of his mouth and slowly blooms across his face. “Even if you don’t win, for you to be out and proud and killing it like you always have? Imagine, oh, I don’t know, some closeted queer kid at a Christian school in Georgia, finding out that one of the most powerful women in America is a lesbian. I don’t think you’d just be doing it for Sterling, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Part of April is worried about that. She wants to feel fearless and empowered, proud and excited to share her truth. But right now all she knows is that she misses Sterling, so, so much.

“This could destroy everything,” she points out.

“Yeah. Or maybe it’ll make something new.”

April snorts a small laugh through her tears. “You could really be a therapist, you know.”

“Hey, I’ve been by your side since before we hit puberty. I’m pretty sure I understand you better than I understand myself.”

April takes a slow, rattling breath. She looks down at the table in front of her, seeing the pages of a speech that speaks to her qualifications, her accomplishments and her hopes for the future, but not her truth.

“Can you help me with something?” she asks Ezequiel.

“Anything, boo.”

“We’re gonna need to rewrite my speech.”

April has never been so nervous in her life. Her palms are sweating so much she’s afraid to touch her skirt for fear of the stain she might leave behind, and her heart is hammering so hard she thinks her microphone might actually pick it up.

The crowd assembled in front of her is young and energetic, and while the room was incredibly loud when April first walked in everyone quieted down considerably once she started her speech.

April does the usual rounds of thank you’s and acknowledgements before getting to her reason for being there. When she announces with pride that she’s planning to run for President, the audience goes absolutely wild. April can’t help the enormous grin that takes over her face, the sheer delight of being appreciated and supported in this way.

But she isn’t done yet. There’s more she needs to say, and she’s determined not to back down.

This next section of her speech is the newest part; she and Ezequiel added it late last night. But April’s practiced it so many times in the last twelve hours that she already knows it by heart.

“There is something else I would like to share with all of you, in the name of honesty, integrity, and my hope for a more equitable future for our country. This is something quite personal, a part of my own story that I’ve shielded up until now out of fear. But I won’t let myself be controlled by fear any longer.”

She takes a deep breath. The crowd is virtually silent, completely captivated by the mystery of April’s reveal.

“This information is an important piece of who I am, but it’s far from the only piece, and I implore you to listen with an open heart. This may change your perception of who I am, so please, allow me to reintroduce myself to all of you.”

April grips the podium, wishing it was Sterling’s hand she was holding. She closes her eyes briefly before opening them, wide and unblinking.

“My name is April Stevens, and I am a lesbian.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: that Ezequiel/April convo was one of the first parts of this fic that I wrote!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the last chapter! Oh so bittersweet. Thank you, everyone, for coming along on this journey. This has been one of my favorite fics to write, and I so appreciate everyone who's read and commented along!

Since returning home to New York, Sterling has observed herself having good days and bad days.

On good days, she eats a healthy breakfast and goes for a long walk and maybe even writes a little bit. For the first time in her life she’s been writing about herself, diving into her own story instead of other people’s, and while she has no idea what she’ll do with the pages, the process has felt cathartic, in a way. Possibly even healing.

On bad days, she listens to sad music and eats ice cream and counts down the hours until Addison’s bedtime so she can FaceTime Blair, sobbing into the phone for the duration of their conversation.

Today has been a good day. Sterling called her mom and wrote in the afternoon, then Blair and Addison swung by her apartment and the three of them walked to their favorite Italian restaurant in Sterling’s neighborhood.

Blair hasn’t said it directly, but Sterling is pretty sure she suggested the dinner as a distraction, since they both know April is in town, most likely to announce her candidacy. Sterling is certain that as soon as she’s alone back in her apartment, she’ll spiral into a vortex of April news, reading each article and looking at every picture available. But for now, she’s alright to spend time with her sister and niece, to feel present and almost happy for a couple of hours.

She’s pretty proud of herself, honestly, for not checking her phone throughout the dinner, but she figures a quick peek can’t hurt while Blair and Addison use the bathroom at the restaurant. They’re all about to head home, anyway, so Sterling reasons that she’s only jumpstarting her April spiral by a few minutes.

She pulls up a tab for MSNBC, immediately seeing the headline: _U.S. Secretary of State April Stevens Announces Presidential Run, Comes Out as Lesbian._

Sterling’s phone clatters against the wood table. She’s pretty sure her vision blacks out for a second, and she can’t really breathe. With shaking hands she picks her phone back up and clicks on the article, seeing a video clip underneath it featuring a thumbnail of April in a navy dress that on anyone else would seem modest but on her is unbelievably sexy.

Sterling blinks a few times, her heart in her throat, as she starts the video. The restaurant, thankfully, is loud and casual enough that she won’t be seen as rude for watching something, but not so loud that she can’t hear the video.

Though honestly, in this moment, Sterling doesn’t really give a damn about social cues.

On the video, April is standing in a packed hall behind a podium, as Sterling has seen her so many times before. She’s nervous, Sterling can tell by the way she’s gripping the podium, but a sincere smile is tugging at the corners of her mouth.

 _“This information is an important piece of who I am, but it’s far from the only piece, and I implore you to listen with an open heart,”_ April says. _"This may change your perception of who I am, so please, allow me to reintroduce myself to all of you. My name is April Stevens, and I am a lesbian.”_

Sterling isn’t even aware of how her body is reacting until Blair asks with alarm, “Sterl, what’s wrong?”

Sterling stares up at her sister, standing by the table with Addison’s hand in hers, both of their faces tight with concern. Sterling suddenly realizes that she’s crying and trembling a bit, and she isn’t sure if she can speak, so she just turns her phone around so Blair can look at it.

Blair takes a second to react to the headline, even scrolling the video back so she can watch the announcement for herself, and Sterling hears the words again:

_“My name is April Stevens, and I am a lesbian.”_

“Holy shit,” Blair breathes, sinking into the booth across from Sterling.

“Mommy!” Addison scolds as she climbs into her mother’s lap.

“I’m sorry, baby, but remember how I said sometimes grown-ups have such big feelings they need to use bad words?” Blair replies, looking at Sterling the whole time. “This is one of those times.” She squeezes Sterling’s fingers. “You okay?”

Sterling nods, then shakes her head. She isn’t sure how to begin answering that question.

April just came out to the world. In the biggest, most public way imaginable. It’s literally what Sterling’s been wanting since she was sixteen years old, and she’s finding out through her phone screen. It’s utterly surreal.

“Okay” doesn’t begin to cover it.

“I need to see her,” Sterling decides. “I need to make sure she’s alright.”

“I’m sure she’s fine—”

“Blair,” Sterling cuts in sternly, using a voice that she’s hardly ever used with her sister. “I _need_ to see her. We can find her. She’s here in New York.”

“Well, obviously, but how do you suppose we get to her?” Blair glances back down at Sterling’s phone. “This video is from, like, two hours ago. Who knows where she is by now?”

“We could go to the hotel where the announcement was held?” Sterling suggests.

“Oh yeah, and just be all ‘I used to work for Secretary Stevens, no, I’m not a stalker, please let me in even though I smell like garlic and red wine and have no proof of employment on me?’”

“I wouldn’t frame it like that,” Sterling grumbles.

Blair frowns. “Plus, my team worked security there once. Place is like Fort Knox even when a politician isn’t there.”

Sterling knows Blair is right, but her heart is hammering so hard inside her chest, and her stomach is swirling with the desire to see April, so she’s really having a hard time with logic right now.

“After an announcement like that, I’m sure she’s being swamped,” Blair points out. “How about we head back to your apartment, you can freshen up and we’ll see if we can figure something out. Guessing you don’t have current phone numbers for anybody?”

“They change them weekly for security reasons.”

“Makes sense. Okay, let’s get—” She moves to stand up but Sterling tightens her grip on Blair’s hand.

“ _Blair_ ,” Sterling whispers, her voice cracking slightly. “She came out.”

Blair grins. “I know, Sterl. I know.” She gives Sterling’s hand one last squeeze before pulling away. “C’mon, I might be able to get in touch with some people who can help.”

Sterling has never been so grateful for her sister’s job as they exit the restaurant. Her legs feel like jelly but she must be walking really fast because Blair and Addison practically have to run to keep up with her.

The air is cold but Sterling hardly notices. She feels giddy and nervous and overwhelmed; isn’t sure whether she’s going to cry or laugh or throw up or do all three at once.

Once they’re standing still in the elevator, Sterling resumes scrolling through her phone, trying to mine the news and social media for any scrap of information that might point her toward April, but nothing of significance comes up.

She’s still scrolling as they arrive at her floor, Blair guiding her down the hallway by the elbow, and she’s reaching for her keys on sheer muscle memory alone when a familiar voice says, “Hello, Ms. Wesley.”

Sterling looks up to see Tom standing outside her door. His stance is professional as ever, but there’s a definite gleam in his eyes.

Before Sterling knows what she’s doing she’s launched herself into his arms, hugging him fiercely. Tom makes a noise of surprise but hugs her back.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks when they pull apart, even though her heart already knows the answer.

“Secretary Stevens wanted to see you after her speech,” he explains. “She was quite insistent.”

Sterling can barely speak, but she manages to get out, “Is she—?”

“Inside. We found your spare key. She didn’t want to go in without your permission, but I couldn’t let her hang out in the hallway. I hope that’s alright.”

Sterling lets out a short, slightly manic laugh, because _of course_ it’s alright, it’s just about the most alright thing she’s ever heard. She turns to Blair, who’s never met Tom but is clearly piecing all of this together.

 _April’s inside,_ Sterling thinks at her sister.

_Well, don’t just stand here! Let’s get your girl!_

Sterling squares her shoulders and takes one last deep breath before putting her key in the lock.

“What kind of headset are you rocking?” she hears Blair asks Tom.

“Not the time,” Sterling mutters, barely processing Blair’s, “Sorry!” as she pushes the door open.

It might be dramatic, but Sterling full-on gasps, hand over her mouth and tears filling her eyes, when she sees April Stevens standing in the middle of her apartment. She can’t move, is rendered utterly motionless by the way April’s face blossoms with her softest smile, her Sterling smile.

“Hi,” April breathes, her voice high and perfect just on that one word.

“Hi,” Sterling breathes back, unable to do anything but stare and stare at the wonder in front of her.

Blair nudges her forward and Sterling sort of stumbles a little, and then Addison is suddenly zooming out from behind Blair, running over to April and pointing an accusatory finger at her.

“You’re the lady in Auntie Sterl’s desk!” Addy declares.

April’s brow furrows in confusion, and Sterling explains with a blush, “She means the magazines.”

“Sterling has quite the collection,” Blair adds helpfully. “I’m sure she can show you.”

“Oh, is that right?” April teases.

Sterling can only nod. She can’t even pretend to muster up any embarrassment.

“I’m Addison!” Addy announces proudly.

April, still in her heels, kneels down to Addison’s height, extending a hand toward hers with a smile, and something in Sterling’s chest clenches at the sight. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Addison. My name is April. Your aunt Sterling thought we might meet, someday.”

Addison shakes April’s hand, staring at her intently. “You’re sooo pretty.”

Behind Sterling, Blair groans. “Oh Lord, just what we need, another Wesley woman obsessed with April Stevens.” She gestures to her daughter. “C’mon, girly girl, let’s let Auntie Sterl have some _private time_ with her friend.” Sterling can hear the eyebrow waggle in Blair’s voice, but she honestly can’t be bothered to look anywhere but at April.

Addison reluctantly rejoins her mom, giving Sterling a hug.

“Good luck, champ,” Blair whispers into Sterling’s ear on her way out, tossing a, “Don’t screw it up, Stevens!” over her shoulder before closing the door.

Then it’s just the two of them, and Sterling is still standing all the way across the room from April.

“Are you gonna stay there all night?” April asks, and that breaks the spell. Sterling crosses the room in a few quick steps, taking April’s hands as soon as they’re extended to her. And it’s not enough, not even close, but just feeling April’s smooth skin against hers again makes Sterling shiver.

“Your speech,” Sterling manages to get out. “I—April, I really wasn’t expecting that.”

“You and me both,” April replies, running her thumbs along the insides of Sterling’s wrists.

“Are you okay?”

April shrugs, her eyes a little shiny with unshed tears. “I have no clue. All I know is I needed to do it.”

“It wasn’t…” Sterling cuts herself off, rolls her lips together. She’d really like to regain her ability to speak in complete sentences. “It wasn’t just for me, right? You wanted to do it for you, too?”

“I mean, I did break into your apartment immediately after, so it wasn’t _not_ for you. But it was for me, too.”

“And you’re still running?”

“I’m still running,” April confirms. “As an out-and-proud candidate. I didn’t want to choose.”

“But you _did_ choose,” Sterling points out softly. “Coming out is choosing. It’s choosing to be honest, and brave.” She lets one of her hands drift up the back of April’s arm, settling against her shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Yeah?” The vulnerability in April’s voice tugs at Sterling’s heart.

“Yes,” she says emphatically, pulling April tightly against her in a hug. April hugs her back without hesitation, arms wrapping around Sterling’s waist.

Sterling breathes in April’s smell—the fancy perfume that she always puts on for important occasions, the shampoo that she brings on every trip in a special rubber carrying case, and beneath it all the scent that is, undeniably, April herself. Sterling lets her eyes drift closed, lets more tears spill against her cheeks, feeling the knot that’s been in her chest for months finally start to loosen.

April pulls back first, but she still keeps her arms looped around Sterling’s waist. In her heels she’s nearly as tall as Sterling, and she looks her squarely in the eyes.

“Here’s the deal,” April says seriously. “I love you. Very, very much. I really don’t know how any of this is going to go, but I do know that I want to be with you. Not behind closed doors, but as a real couple. And I understand if I missed my chance, or if you can’t deal with being the girlfriend of a candidate—or, depending on what happens, a possible First Lady—”

“First Lady?” Sterling echoes in a whisper. “Are you proposing to me?”

April flushes. “No, of course not. I’m just trying to say that this is all a lot, and I would understand if you…if you rejected me.” Her eyes are so wide and pleading. “But I really hope you don’t.”

Sterling brushes her thumb across April’s cheek, feeling April unconsciously lean into the touch. She wants to kiss April— _God_ , does she ever—but she needs April to hear her, first.

“I could never,” Sterling says emphatically, finally giving herself permission to speak the truth that’s been rattling inside her for so long: “April, you’re the love of my life.”

“I am?”

Sterling rolls her eyes. “Duh. It’s always come back to this, right?” She leans their foreheads together. “I’m in it with you for the long haul. Whether you decide to drop out tomorrow or we end up moving into the White House with a bunch of cats.”

She and April just breathe together for a minute, letting that statement settle between them, before Sterling adds, “But I really think you’re gonna win.”

“Pretty sure I already have,” April murmurs, and then she kisses Sterling, mouth warm and open, one hand sliding up against Sterling’s throat and the other clutching her hip.

Sterling wraps her arms around April’s neck, smiling into the kiss, feeling her stomach flood with butterflies just like it did twenty years ago in Ellen’s office.

But this time there’s no lingering uncertainty, no fear that she made the wrong decision.

As Sterling kisses April back with everything she’s got, she’s never been so sure of the rightness of anything in her life.

\----

In the year and a half between April announcing her candidacy and the Election, there are so many days and moments that don’t feel real.

There’s the morning after she and Sterling officially get together, when Sterling is still sleepy and plastered against her in her hotel bed, and April, gripped by the utter joy and exhilaration of the last twelve hours, suggests, “Want to go Instagram official?”

And Sterling, who is suddenly very awake, cheers, “Heck yeah, I do!” and twenty minutes later April is posting a picture of the two of them with the caption: _I’m the luckiest woman in the world._

There’s the way her campaign seems to gain momentum overnight, once the current President releases a statement praising April whole-heartedly and announcing his endorsement of her, highlighting April’s bravery in speaking her truth.

The queer community rallies behind her, and every day April receives another video that makes her break down in tears, everything from footage of drag queens performing lip-syncs set to her speeches to raise funds for the campaign, to current Willingham students showing up at school with their #QueersForApril shirts over their uniforms. (Ellen, unsurprisingly, can’t bring herself to reprimand them.)

There’s the day of New York City Pride, when April’s campaign gets its own float, and Sterling holds her hand the whole time as they wave to the ecstatic crowd around them. Ezequiel rides with them, of course, rocking a pink feather boa, and, most unbelievably of all, so does April’s mother, eyes wide the entire ride.

There’s the morning when Sterling’s first memoir is released, right in the middle of the campaign, and April reads the _New York Times_ review to herself first because Sterling’s too nervous.

“They love it,” she proudly reports to Sterling, “but then again, how could they not?”

There’s the way the news media completely falls in love with Sterling after that, and she becomes a frequently coveted interview due to her charm and humility and general loveliness.

“If you win,” Ezequiel remarks to April one day, “she’s at least forty percent responsible.”

“Believe me, I know.”

There’s the evening about three weeks before the primary when they have a rare night at home and April is making dinner, and out of the blue Sterling asks, “Do you think we should get married?”

April nearly spits the water she was drinking all over the counter as she gapes, “What?”

“I mean, I figure it’s only a matter of time, and statistically speaking you clearly have a better chance of winning if you’re married—though, to be fair, there obviously aren’t any statistics about lesbian marriages and the presidency, but I feel like it’s probably still true?”

April comes to sit beside her, heart pounding in her ears. “You figure it’s only a matter of time?” she echoes.

“Well, yeah,” Sterling replies, voice soft and unconcerned, like there’s not a single doubt in her mind. “I mean, I plan on being with you forever, so…”

“So you’re proposing to me? In the most unromantic way possible?”

Sterling rolls her eyes but scoots forward and takes April’s hands. “I’m being pragmatic. Kinda thought that would work for you?” April can’t help but laugh. “But how about this: I love you with all of my heart. I support you endlessly. I want us to achieve our dreams together and grow old together and adopt a bunch cats together. And you know I don’t even really like cats, but I really like you. So: will you marry me?”

April is crying, she can’t help it, and she nods through her tears, allowing Sterling to pull her in for a soggy kiss. She never imagined she would marry someone she’s technically been dating for less than a year, but she figures she and Sterling sort of had a head-start.

“By the way,” Sterling whispers against her lips, “if you wanted to do a big romantic proposal thing for me, I wouldn’t be mad.”

So a week later April does just that: a fancy romantic proposal on the roof of her building with rose petals and champagne and twinkly lights. It’s fantastically cheesy, and by the time April gets down on one knee they’re both sobbing.

Sterling, obviously, says yes.

There’s the night of the first debate, when April absolutely dominates, her years of forensics coming in clutch. She doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t stumble over her words once, and though she knows there’s no formal winner for the night, privately she feels like a champion.

Especially when Sterling drags her back to the hotel that night and goes down on her for hours, making April come so many times she loses count.

“Seeing me in action still really does it for you, huh?” April rasps between rounds.

“You have no idea,” Sterling replies. “I’m attending every debate from now on, got it?”

There’s the day of their wedding, which is a small affair because planning a wedding in the middle of a presidential campaign is surely its own form of madness. They do it back in Georgia, at the church where they grew up, a decision which is, honestly, half for nostalgia reasons and half because it makes a good news story, but April makes the conscious choice to focus on the first part as her mom walks her down the aisle.

Addison is the flower girl, of course, and Anderson and Blair each give speeches that bring the room to tears. April and Sterling’s first dance is to “Slow Burn,” and as Sterling delightedly twirls her around the dance floor, April doesn’t think she’s ever been so happy.

There’s the day April accepts the Democratic nomination, after being introduced by AOC, and then in what feels like the blink of an eye, it’s Election Day.

April can’t keep any food down, so Sterling brings her a vanilla milkshake and stays by her side the entire day. The numbers seem to come in at a glacial pace, and April is tired, she’s so tired, but there’s absolutely no way anybody is sleeping.

And then suddenly at five in the morning the Election is called, and she’s won.

_She’s won._

April is an out lesbian, and the President of the United States. Her ears are ringing and she can’t breathe and she’s being crushed from both sides by Sterling and Ezequiel in a massive hug.

April doesn’t know what to say or do, doesn’t even know how to _feel,_ so all she can do is look into Sterling’s eyes and say, “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” Sterling replies with a giant grin. “You did it.”

And yeah, she did.

There’s a few days later, when April has finally had time to sleep a little bit and she and Sterling have had sex for the first time in what feels like forever but has actually only been about a week and a half, when Sterling muses, “Do you think we could get Kacey Musgraves to sing at the Inauguration?” and April immediately asks Ezequiel to get in touch with Kacey’s people.

And then there’s Inauguration Day itself, which is basically a series of moments that feel completely unreal:

Getting ready with Sterling and an entire glam squad in their custom-made dresses.

Sterling holding the Bible as April takes the oath.

Looking into the crowd and seeing so many different faces smiling up at her, proud and excited to call her their President.

Taking Sterling’s hand as they dance at the Inaugural Ball with the knowledge that they’re making history, a fact which sometimes feels heavy and hard but right now just feels incredibly joyous.

After the Ball, there’s a fireworks show set to Kacey’s live performance. April and Sterling watch from the deck of their new home, and when the neon colors streak across the darkness April feels like her chest itself is expanding. Other than Sterling, she’s never seen anything so beautiful.

The sky is bright above them, and Sterling’s arms are wrapped around her, and April realizes she’s gotten everything she's ever wanted.


End file.
